


Through the Sands of Time

by MedievalScribe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Cunning!Morgana, Druid!Hermione, F/M, Proactive!Merlin, is-not-a-recurring-thing, mentions of it later on might happen, smart!Arthur, the-almost-rape-happens-in-chapter-one, timetraveler!Hermione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25924033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedievalScribe/pseuds/MedievalScribe
Summary: Hermione Granger had never been as afraid as she stared into Fenrir Greyback's leering eyes. He was going to eat her. In a desperate bid to save herself, she tried to use the only time turner, but Bellatrix's misplaced Cruciatus curse sent Hermione through the sands of time to Ancient Camelot. Afraid of hurting the history of the world she escapes Camelot and finds the druids, where she meets a young boy who she fells compelled to protect.“In all my years, it has never happened that a prophecy changes. It was foreseen long ago that Emrys would help the Once and Future King unite Albion and bring in a new era of prosperity for all its inhabitants. Only one is there to jeopardize this new age, and that is young Mordred who will join the witch Morgana in evil. But now, Mordred has a choice. He can choose to join Morgana in evil or…” the Elder opened the parchment and read from it, “the witch of light who came through the sands of time.” ”
Comments: 27
Kudos: 100





	1. In Which Hermione Breaks Multiple Laws at the Same Time

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: Trigger Warning: Explicit violence and torture scenes. Hermione is also almost raped by Fenrir Greyback, so if that is upsetting to you, feel free to skip.

Hermione had never been this scared in her life, except maybe when facing the troll back in her first year of Hogwarts. After that, she had vowed never to be unprepared for anything. She’d lock herself in the library for hours, researching about everything she thought might be useful.

Thanks to that industriousness, she was able to keep Harry, Ron and herself alive and well for most of their Hogwarts careers. Now, however, knowledge wasn’t going to help her. Instead, the knowledge of what was to come froze the blood in her veins, and she couldn’t help the tremors that cursed through her body. Alone with Bellatrix, a woman who was known for her insanity, in an isolated mansion that only her enemies could locate, she’d begun to tremble even before the witch said “Crucio”. Harry and Ron were locked in the cellar, and she knew that by the time they’d free themselves –because she knew they would– she’d be dead.

At the end of her torture, Bellatrix's carved Mudblood on her skin to remind her that, despite being intelligent and resourceful, to a certain number of people in the Wizarding World she would never truly belong. The blade burned like metal left on the fire too long, and Hermione screamed her throat raw. And when Bellatrix was done, she'd given Fenrir Greyback green light to do with her whatever he wanted.

Fenrir Greyback leered at her all night since Hermione arrived. She had hoped that by the time he got her, the Cruciatus curse would have driven her insane. She had hoped to be dead by the time he would use her. Yet, destiny wasn't as sweet nor as forgiving. He walked slowly towards her, and she trembled. Whether out of the aftereffects of the curse or sheer terror didn't matter. Greyback licked his lips and popped his fingers. Hermione's eyes pooled with tears. She tried to back away from him, but her arms didn't support her weight and she could barely move. He seemed to enjoy her futile attempts to get away from him, defenseless, wandless. She couldn’t breathe.

This, she felt, would be the last night of her life.

She rolled on her stomach, hoping that would give her legs more leverage to get away, when she heard the clink of metal on marble. She looked down and noticed the time turner. She took it from the Department of Mysteries right before they got destroyed. That was her best kept secret, her last resort.

She grasped it with trembling hands and started spinning it.

One time, for one hour.

Two times, for two.

Three times for three.

Where were they three hours ago? She needed to be able to get into the mansion to save Harry, Ron and Herself.

Four times just in case.

She gasped when big hands grabbed her waist and turned her over and three things happened at the same time.

First, Hermione let go of the dial and time started to blur around her.

Two, Greyback attempted to snatch it back so she moved it out of his reach.

Three, Bellatrix aimed a Cruciatus curse at her but, instead, it hit the time turner.

Because of her extensive use of a time-turner in her third year, she could tell that this particular trip to the past was not normal. While she feared for her existence, she'd take whatever time threw at her if it got her away from Fenrir Greyback.

Time warped around her and for a moment the air was sucked out of her. Then she felt suspended in the air, floating in the time vortex that had been unwittingly opened. The sensation lasted only a few seconds before she fell on leaf-covered ground with a thud that made her lose what little air she’d managed to gasp in.

Her head spin, and she saw white spots. She heard a growl and realized much to her chagrin that Greyback had come with her to wherever… whenever she’d traveled to, and she tried to scoot away but he pulled her shirt, ripping it. She tried to scream, but there was no air in her lungs. She was going to pass out. She flailed, and her foot connected with something solid, and she used those stolen seconds to scoot back as far as she could, which wasn’t much.

She gulped a mouthful of air, and screamed her throat raw.

Her scream was cut by Greyback who gripped her neck, and she knew without a doubt he would snap it.

However, in the new silence, she could hear men yelling and metal scraping. She saw blurred shapes of red surrounding her and the psychopathic werewolf, and she hoped that these men were friends rather than foes. Her vision started to fade to black, and the hand with which she was feebly trying to loosen Greyback’s hold fell limp to her side. A lone tear slid down her cheek.

The last thing she heard was Greyback roar.

* * *

Consciousness came slowly to Hermione. At first, it felt like she was on a boat, rocking to the ocean waves. It reminded her of her parents, all the way in Australia, oblivious to the fact they ever had a daughter. Gradually, the ocean waves were replaced by something solid under her, and the aches in her body reminded her of what she'd been through a few hours ago...

How was she still alive?

Her head throbbed. She scrunched up her eyes, trying to will it away, and her hand twitched. She heard a rustle, and a hand suddenly enveloped her own.

“Gaius, I think she’s waking up,” a male voice said close to her. She figured he must be the one holding his hand.

She heard a clank, a rustle of fabric, and steps flapping on stone.

“Miss?” another male voice, but much older. Reminded her a little bit of Dumbledore.

She tried to speak, but her throat hurt and she started to cough instead.

“Bring her some water,” the older voice said in a commanding tone. Gentle arms helped her sit up somewhat, and soon she felt something press against her lips. She closed her mouth on instinct, the way she, Harry and Ron had discussed they’d do if they were ever captured.

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” the younger voice coaxed, again pressing against her lips, “it’s just water.”

Hermione’s throat felt raw, it hurt to move her neck, and her mouth felt like parchment. She slowly opened her lips just a slit, enough to clamp up again and spit if needed. Much to her relieve, she tasted fresh water, and her whole body seemed to relax a notch.

“Good job,” the younger voice said, and Hermione wanted to tell him she wasn’t a child.

She opened her eyes as much as she could then, wanting to know who were these kind people helping her. Much to her surprise, she saw a teenager. Scrawny, hair nearly as untamable as Harry’s, wearing a very peculiar blue shirt and red neckerchief. Other features were obscured, for the dark room was barely lit by a candle nearby and nothing else. He smiled at her, and she tried to smile back.

“Miss, what is your name?” the elderly voice called out from behind her and she realized that the old man must have been holding her upright.

“Hermione,” she answered, and her throat burned.

“Miss Hermione, my name is Gaius and I'm the Court Physician of Camelot. What is the last things you remember?” the older man asked her.

“And who was the man attacking you?” the young one piped in.

“Merlin, give her time,” the older man chastised while Hermione's head reeled.

Camelot? As in... Oh... no. No, no, no... What had she done?

“Miss Hermione?” the old man, Gaius, asked again, and Hermione had to fight agains the fog in her head and the dread in her stomach.

“I was attacked,” she attempted to say, but her tongue felt heavy and her neck muscles hurt with the effort. She winced.

“We figured as much. What we want to know is why,” the teen, Merlin, said but Hermione glared at him through half closed eyes. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with any sort of sass from anyone. He raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender, “okay, okay, later then.”

“We should let you rest, Miss Hermione,” the old man said and laid her back down on what she assumed was a cot. She rolled her eyes.

The old man then proceeded to blow out the candle and Hermione, despite her discovery, found it surprisingly easy to fall asleep again.

* * *

Hermione was back at Malfoy Manor, and Bellatrix was looking at her with a wicked gleam in her eyes. Her blade glistened with blood, and Bellatrix licked it from the knife. Then, Fenrir Greyback crawled to her in all fours, like the animal he was, and bared his fangs at her. She tried to scoot back, but her hands were chained to the floor. To the side, she heard Harry and Ron screaming her name, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of Greyback, who pounced on her exposed neck.

Hermione woke up screaming and her abused throat reminded her why that was such a bad idea. She sat up and touched her neck, which hurt a lot but wasn't bleeding. She looked at her arm and noticed a white bandage where the wound Bellatrix carved was supposed to be. She felt someone touch her arm and, on instinct, she let her fist fly. It hit her mark on a cheekbone, and the victim of her left hook fell to the floor.

Hermione cradled her now-bruised knuckles close to her chest, as if she needed any other injury really, and she looked at the downed man. Much to her surprise, and embarrassment, she realized that she punched the teenager who had been helping her. She noticed that the room was bathed in a soft, golden light and deduced it must be morning.

“I’m so sorry,” she croaked, glad that at least she could make herself understood even if it still hurt to talk.

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have startled you,” the teen answered. He stood up, cradling his cheek in his hand, “you have a strong arm.”

Hermione snorted. “I don’t think I know your name.”

“Merlin. I was with the knights who found you in the woods.” He sat back on the stool.

“Merlin?” Hermione repeated, thinking that perhaps she didn't hear correctly.

“As far as I know, yes,” the teen repeated, chuckling.

“And you were with the knights who found me...”

Merlin nodded.

“because we are in Camelot.”

“That's right. Where are you from?”

Hermione found her voice stuck in her throat for reasons unrelated to her injuries. This couldn't be happening. There had to be a way to fix this disaster. The time turner, of course! She patted her chest and didn't find the golden chain hanging from its usual place. In fact, she wasn't wearing any of her own clothes.

“Where are my clothes?” she blurted out.

Melin blushed, “They were unsuitable to be worn again, so one of the maids dressed you in her own clothes.”

Oh, well, Hermione supposed wearing jeans in ancient Camelot wouldn't be very appropriate.

“I had a necklace around my neck,” Hermione then said, “I can't find it.”

“It's here,” Merlin said and walked to the other side of the room, bringing back the broken chain and pieces of glass of what used to be the time turner. The sand was gone. Hermione's heart sank, but Merlin interpreted her expression differently, “I'm sorry. I'm sure we could find a jeweler in the citadel who could fix it.”

“No, it's okay, it's just... it was special to me, that's all,” she said and took the chain from him.

“I’m sure it must be very hard for you to be so far from home. How did you get here?” Merlin asked.

“I'm not supposed to be here,” Hermione said instead, hoping Merlin wouldn't press the issue.

“Gaius wants to know how to notify your family, they must be worried,” Merlin pressed the issue, “also, the king would like to know who was the man who attacked you to see if he's should send a search party out to the woods again.”

“No!” Hermione exclaimed and her throat burned, causing her to delve into a fit of coughs. Merlin jumped, a bit startled by the vehemence of her statement while rushing to get her some water. After Hermione drank, she explained, “I don't want to talk to the king. I'm not supposed to be here at all.”

“Don't you want to let your family know...?” Merlin started, confused by her denial, but Hermione interrupted him.

“My family is dead,” Hermione blurted, staring at her lap. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Her parents would never remember her, and her two best friends were far from her reach. In Camelot, her family was dead.

“What happened?” Merlin asked. 

“We were traveling when we were attacked. They were killed.”

“Were they killed by the man who attacked you?”

“That… man kidnapped me. He wanted… he wanted to…” she choked up and had to stop talking as the memories of what had happened flashed in front of her eyes.

Merlin took her hand in a comforting gesture, “You’re safe now. I’m sure the king won’t mind employing you in the palace.”

“No, I can't stay here,” Hermione said, wiping her tears.

“Why? You're going to be safe here.” Merlin argued.

“Because,” Hermione said, and she knew it was a bad argument, but she couldn't really tell him that she was from the future. Even if he was _the_ Merlin, it could change the course of history and Hermione couldn't let herself slip.

Just then, the door burst open. Hermione jumped and Merlin groaned.

“Merlin!” a male voice yelled, “if I discover you neglected your duties because you were in the tavern _again_ , I swear–”

Hermione stared at the blond man who was just leaving his teenage years behind as he strode into the room, his head turning as he looked the room for the man in question. He did a double take when he noticed Hermione staring at him with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. She looked at Merlin, and caught him trying to stifle his laugh.

“What’s so funny Merlin?” the blonde man asked, albeit his cheeks were a little red, “Do you fancy cleaning horse dung for the rest of the week?”

“I’m sorry, sire,” Merlin said even though he didn’t look sorry in the least, “I was tending to Miss Hermione who just woke up.”

The blond man straightened his back, jutted his chin out and furrowed his brow ever so slightly. “My father would like to offer the assistance and shelter of Camelot if you need it. He would like to see you when you feel better. Merlin,” the man jerked his head in the direction of the door and left. Merlin sighed.

“His pratiness calls,” he whispered, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile a bit. She didn’t have to think hard to know who that blond man was. However, she had one more question to ask.

“Merlin,” he turned towards her, “what happened to… that man?”

“He’s dead.”

A chill ran down Hermione’s spine. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Merlin answered with a frown, “why?”

“That man was not just a man. He’s cursed to turn into a vicious beast on the full moon, a werewolf. Where I’m from, he’s known for taking maidens against their will to…” Hermione gulped, “that’s why he took me.”

“Merlin!” a voice yelled from outside.

Merlin, wide eyed, sputtered, “I need to go. I’ll see you later,” before rushing out of the room pale as a ghost.

* * *

As soon as Merlin left, Hermione exhaled, glad to have a moment to gather her thoughts.

She was in Camelot. While the opportunity to learn magic from Merlin himself would be a dream come true, Hermione wasn't stupid enough to believe her fall through time wouldn't cause ripples. It also looked like Merlin was young, so anything she said, or did, could undo history as she knew it. The consequences could be... unthinkable.

On top of that, Fenrir Greyback came back in time with her, and she could only hope he was really dead. While she didn't know a lot about medieval England, she was pretty sure that were-wolfs didn't arrive on the British Isles until the invasion of the French by William the Conqueror. It was too soon, and she dreaded to think the king of damage someone like him could wreck on medieval society.

Then there was the time traveling issue, which Dumbledore had extensively warned her against. People had gone mad going back in time, others had been ripped apart by the magic while others died a slow and painful dead. And if she somehow survived her stay in the past and managed to get back to the future, she'd die within the hour.

She didn’t know what to do.

And what about Harry and Ron? Were they still trapped in the cellar of Malfoy Manor? Was Malfoy Manor even still standing? Where they alive or had she already changed enough that their existence was errased?

Tears came to her eyes, and she let them fall, unbidden. She hugged her knees to her chest despite her body’s protests, and she sobbed for what felt like hours. She startled when the door slammed open and Gaius came in followed by a frantic Merlin. They were whispering back and forth with grim faces.

Gaius was the first to notice her and he seemed surprise to see her awake. He approached her slowly with a cup of water, which made a stark constrant against the urgency of his next words.

“Miss Hermione, I’m glad to see you’re awake,” he said, and gave her the water, which she gratefully took. He sat down in front of her on a stool, “are you feeling well enough to answer some questions?”

Hermione wanted to refuse, but the worry in Gaius's eyes compelled her to say yes. She didn't want to leave these people to clear her messes.

Gaius, visibly relieved, didn’t miss a bit, “Merlin tells me that you think the man who attacked you is a werewolf.”

“I know he is a werewolf,” Hermione assured, not liking where the questioning was going.

“That’s not possible, my dear,” Gaius said, trying to sound reassuring but, instead, sounding condescending. Hermione felt immediately irritated, “werewolfs are extremely rare, and most of their sightings have been on the continent, not here.”

Hermione cleared her throat and licked her lips. How could she get him to understand? She spoke clearly even if it hurt.

“I understand where you're coming from, but I'm not from here. I'm not supposed to be here at all, and I'm not quite sure how I got to Camelot. What I do know is that that man is a werewolf who revels in the curse and uses it to harm other people. Please, don't wait until the full moon because then it would be too late.”

Gaius blinked, as if taken aback by what she said. Merlin, next to her, was also looking at her with thinly veiled suspicion.

“How did you get here, you said?” Gaius asked.

“I'd rather not say,” Hermione replied.

“Do you have magic?” Gaius asked, rather direct, and Hermione was torn. On the one hand, if he was Merlin's mentor, he had to have magic, didn't he? Then again, was he Merlin's mentor? She didn't want to give away too much about herself, either. It could prove useful to have an ace under her sleeve. Gaius seemed to interpret her silence as assent, for he nodded and said:

“Sometimes, in times of high stress, magic will attempt to protect the caster by transporting them to a safer place.”

“He latched onto me,” Hermione said with tears in her eyes, her guilt shining through, “I didn't mean to bring him here.”

“It's not your fault, but I do thank you for this information. Do try not to divulge it,” Gaius warned.

Not that Hermione would do it, but the statement puzzled her, “Why?”

“Well, it was clear before you weren’t from around here, but still, you surely must have heard about Camelot before,” Gaius prompted.

“Of course I’ve heard about Camelot,” Hermione scoffed, biting her tongue to stop herself from spilling everything she knew about the Arthurian legends, which in all honesty, didn't seem to be that accurate. It still didn't explain why she should keep her magic a secret. Wasn't magic commonly practiced in Camelot back in the day, even in front of muggles? Gaius sighed.

“My dear, you are in Camelot,” he explained, as if she was a particularly dull five-year-old, and then he lowered his voice, “where magic is illegal.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide, and in her shock, she couldn’t stop her mouth, “Then why are you here?” she asked, turning to Merlin.

Gaius previous cautious-yet-gentle demeanor suddenly became defensive. Merlin himself stiffened.

“Whatever do you mean, dear?” Gaius asked, with an edge to his eyes that wasn’t there before.

Hermione realized that she probably shouldn’t have known that, and she scrambled for an answer.

“Nothing,” was her quick, unconvincing reply, “I meant…” she stammered.

“How did you know?” Merlin asked then, earning a scolding from Gaius.

“Merlin!”

“I saw you in the woods, when you rescued me,before I fainted, ” Hermione lied, hoping they believed her. Based on the skeptical looks she was receiving, she wasn’t fooling anyone, “it doesn't matter how I know, not really. You must believe that I mean you no harm and that I will protect his secret as if it was my own.”

“I will hold you to that,” Gaius said, and Merlin sagged a bit in relief, too trusting for his own good.

“In any case, Greyback was a werewolf and he was extremely dangerous,” Hermione said trying to steer the conversation away from her.

“But he’s still a man,” Merlin intervened, “surely there must be a way to break the curse.”

Hermione remembered professor Lupin and her heart ached. He was a good man cursed to become a monster. She had to push that thought aside, though, because Fenrir Greyback was nothing like Remus Lupin.

She replied, “There isn’t. And even if there was, Greyback was a vicious murderer since before he got cursed. Now, he uses his curse as a weapon, and he must be stopped.”

“You keep calling him Greyback,” Gaius noted.

“That’s his name,” Hermione answered.

Gaius hummed, “An unusual name. Where did you say you were from, dear?”

Hermione panicked. She didn’t have a cover story yet; at least none that would be convincing. She decided not to answer at all even though it made her look more suspicious, if only because she was scared to put her foot in her mouth again and reveal something she shouldn’t. Gaius narrowed his eyes at her.

“Merlin, tell Arthur what we’ve discovered,” Gaius said, clearly dismissing the boy who hurried along after one long look at Hermione. When they were alone, Gaius crossed his arms over his chest.

“What are your intentions towards this kingdom?” Gaius asked.

Hermione vehemently shook her head, “I didn’t want to come here. I wanted to go somewhere else, but something went wrong.”

“The king wants to speak to you, and you better have a convincing story to tell him,” Gaius continued,

“Why are you helping me?” Hermione asked, suddenly suspicious herself.

“I believe that your magic brought you here by accident, so you really don't want to be here. Yet, here you are, and now you must learn how make the best of this situation. If your magic brought you here by accident, the probabilities of you replicating that effect to go back home are nearly null,” Gaius explained in a whisper.

Hermione felt touched by his concern, but she couldn't help but feel that it was misplaced. Gaius continued, unaware of her inner turmoil.

“You could say you were traveling from the continent,” Gaius suggested.

“And then what? What would my business have been here?” Hermione asked, not bothering to hide her disagreement.

“You could say you have relatives here.”

“But I don’t. My family is dead. We were attacked, and they were killed.”

“If you think that will satisfy the king, you are mistaken,” Gaius retorted, clearly baiting for more information.

Hermione stayed silent, thinking. “How about, that man had a grudge against my family, so we were running away from him?”

“That doesn’t answer where you’re from.”

“It doesn’t matter. If I tell the king that my family has been on the run from this man since I can remember, it implies we never stayed in one place for long. I could be from the continent or I could not. It doesn’t matter.”

Gaius hummed in agreement, “It needs more work, but it will do. Hopefully that will be enough to keep you alive.”

Hermione gulped, “What do you mean?”

“Uther’s punishment for practicing sorcery and enchantments is death at the pyre,” Gaius replied, before standing up to continue the potions he’d neglected all morning, leaving Hermione paralyzed with fear.

* * *

Near dusk, Merlin barged into the physician’s chambers, covered in mud, grime and leaves. Hermione immediately felt as if she was watching Harry after a tough Quidditch practice with Wood running them to the ground. Her heart ached. She missed Harry, and she missed Ron. She closed her eyes when he turned towards her, hoping to fool him into thinking she was asleep. She heard a thud, and assumed Merlin sat down.

“How is she?” Merlin asked Gaius in a whisper, clearly believing she was asleep.

“I want to say she’s disturbed,” _crazy, you mean_ , Hermione thought bitterly, “but her eyes are too clear, her mind too sharp. She’s keeping secrets.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s evil, though,” Merlin countered.

“Since when do powerful sorceresses come to Camelot without evil intentions, Merlin?”

“Technically, we brought her here because she was injured.”

“It could have been a ruse. For all we know, she might have staged her attack with that man.”

“Then why would she want him dead?”

“It isn’t uncommon for ruffians to turn against each other.”

A sigh, though Hermione couldn’t tell who it belonged to.

“Speaking of that man,” Gaius continued, “what did you find at the site?”

“Nothing but a pool of blood, Gaius. Then, we spent the rest of the afternoon following the trail, hoping to find dismembered parts strewn around by wolves, but there was no such thing. The trail vanished, and we have no evidence that the man died, nor that he’s still alive.”

Another sigh, this time clearly Gaius’s, “If what she says is true, then the people of Camelot are in grave danger. The fool moon is in a week.”

“But why didn’t he die? I saw the knights stab him; Arthur himself impaled him through the stomach.”

“Because like all magical or cursed creatures, that which makes them stronger also helps them heal. I had heard only silver could kill a were-wolf, but the knights’ swords are made of steel. It does seem to confirm what she told us, so she might be from the continent.”

“Is she, though?”

“I don’t know. The way she speaks… she doesn't have the usual accent people of the continent have when they speak our language. She seems to be educated and her hands aren’t the rough hands of a peasant woman, even though she looks old enough to be working in the fields, or at least in a household.”

“My mother taught me how to read,” Merlin sounded indignant.

“But your hands are calloused from when you had to work bringing the harvest in,” Gaius countered. There was a moment of silence where she could hear some scraping sounds.

“So you think she's a Lady?” Merlin asked, then.

“It would certainly explain a lot of things. Tomorrow you should go check the genealogies in the Archives.”

“But Geoffrey hates me,” Merlin whined.

“I'm sure he'll tolerate you for an afternoon. If she is from the people who defected to Brittany, no wonder she didn't want to come to Camelot,” Gaius added, as in an afterthought.

“Arthur said the king wants to speak with her.”

“I know, and I’m afraid she might not survive an interrogation,” Gaius confessed, sounding genuinely concerned.

“What’s her story?”

“She doesn’t have one. She refused to tell me where she’s from, or anything else other than her family was attacked and killed.”

A scoff, “The king will never buy that.”

“I know, but she seems adamant to keep her secrets.”

“I don’t blame her, Gaius. I don’t know what I would have done if I had come to Camelot on my own. At least I have you.”

“That’s another thing that bothers me. She seems to know about your talents, my boy, and I must remind you to be careful.”

“I didn’t tell her.”

“Then how did she find out?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen this woman in my life, and most of the time I’ve been with her, she’s been unconscious. I didn’t tell her.”

They stopped speaking after that. Hermione heard some shuffling, and the door at the back of the room opening and closing, before the room was engulfed in deeper darkness as Gaius put out the candle and went to sleep on the cot in the furthest corner away from her. Hermione couldn’t sleep, as she was mulling over her conversation. The only solution she could see was to leave.

Quietly, and willing herself to be silent and invisible, she tiptoed out of the room. She had no idea where she was going, and there were guards patrolling the grounds, but after roaming Hogwarts after hours with Harry and Ron, it was easy to bypass them. Soon, she realized she’d gotten lost.

_Young witch_ , a voice said, and Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin. She crouched low, instead, and looked around to see who’d talked, only to find the corridor empty.  _Young witch_ , the voice called again, and Hermione felt something tugging at her magic. She realized it must have been someone with magic like herself, or like Merlin, but Gaius’s words rang in her head.

Sorcerers didn’t come to Camelot with good intentions.

Yet, she needed a way out, and this person could help her, so she followed the tug.

Much to her surprise, she seemed to be going deeper into the castle. She had to duck low a couple of times to avoid the guards, but she managed to avoid getting caught. She found herself in a subterranean cavern, and she cursed when she almost tripped on a step she couldn’t see.

“Gosh, I wish there was some light in this place,” she muttered, and instantly, a rush of heat enveloped her and a sphere of light appeared in front of her. She stared at it, and muttered “thanks, stranger.” Whoever wanted her there wanted her badly.

She finally reached the final step and gaped at the huge cavern underneath the castle. She would have screamed when a dragon as big as the Horntail landed a mere few feet in front of her and regarded with almost human intelligence if her throat hadn’t closed up with the sight.

“Very funny,” she finally said when it looked like the dragon wasn’t going to attack her, and after seeing the chain on its paw, “why don’t you call your pet dragon back so we can talk?”

“I summoned you here, young witch,” the _dragon_ spoke, and Hermione rubbed her face.

“Of course dragons speak in medieval Camelot,” she muttered darkly. The dragon didn’t appear to hear her, as he continued speaking.

“You are out of your time, young witch, and even I cannot foresee the consequences of your actions,” the dragon managed to sound patronizing and scolding at the same time, to which Hermione scoffed.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I intended to come here? This is all a mistake and I don’t know how to fix it,” Hermione said, much to strung out to care she was, apparently, whining to a huge dragon that could eat her.

“You cannot,” the dragon declared, “nothing in the world is powerful enough to send you back to your present, if it even exists anymore. As I said, even I can’t foresee the consequences. Your mere presence here could affect the great destiny of Camelot.”

“Believe me, I know. I don’t want to be here in Camelot any more than you want me here. So, tell me, how do I leave this blasted castle and the city?” 

The dragon eyed her with narrowed eyes in a way that unnerved her very much, but he finally answered, “Walk back the stone steps you came through and go to the dungeons. There you will find a similar stone tunnel that will lead you out of the castle and out of the citadel, into the forest. Your best hope would be to find a druid camp, where they could protect you and provide a cover story.”

“Right, okay, thanks,” Hermione said, intending to walk back, when she remembered the sphere of light still floating next to her, “you can undo this spell or whatever. I don’t need it anymore.”

At this, the dragon chuckled, “I didn’t conjure that light, young witch. You did.”

“I did?” Hermione asked, surprised, “but I don’t have a wand.”

“You’ll realize that here magic is everywhere, young witch, and easily accessible to someone such as yourself.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up with excitement since discovering she was in Camelot. She turned to the ball of light, focused on it, and commanded it to turn off. To her delight, it disappeared, and she almost squealed in return.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely to the dragon, “where I come from, dragons don’t speak anymore.”

“But there are more dragons, are there not? I’m not the last of my kind?”

“There’s an entire reservation of dragons in Rumania, where they are protected,” Hermione admitted.

“Then I can rest,” the dragon replied, and with that, Hermione left the cavern.

It was surprisingly easy to get to the dungeons, but once she got there, she realized belatedly that they would be more guarded than the corridors. She needed a distraction. She grabbed a rock from the floor, and threw it to the other side of the corridor. It didn’t make a loud noise, but it was loud enough to prompt some investigating, and the guards left, allowing her to walk into the dungeons. There, she found a group of four knights playing dice on the table.

Hermione wanted to say  _sleep_ , but what came out of her mouth was: “Swefe”. Instantly, the knights’ eyelids grew heavy and they fell asleep, one by one. This allowed her to make her way through the dungeons and out the tunnel the dragon told her about. She didn’t realize it then, but her spell put everyone in the dungeons to sleep, including the prisoners, so her escape went unnoticed and cloaked by the night.

* * *

Hermione walked in the darkness all night. She was afraid of summoning the light again, afraid it would make her an easy target. She had no idea what a druid camp was, but she assumed they lived in the woods. If so, they were probably near a body of water. So, she walked. She had never wanted her beaded bag as much as she did at this moment, yet it was back in Malfoy Manor, if Malfoy Manor still existed. The dragon’s words nagged at her conscience. What if she had destroyed the future already? Well, in that case, she would have ceased to exist, maybe…

Thinking of Time Travel and its consequences was giving her a headache. On top of that, she had no food nor water. Her clothes were too thin, unable to keep the chill out, and she was barefoot because who knows what happened to her shoes.

She walked for miles, refusing to stop.

As the first rays of the sun started turning the black into grey, she found herself near a stream. She almost cried in relief. She approached it and drank greedily, before putting her aching feet in it.

She grimaced. They were swollen with little cuts all over them, caked with dirt and blood. She put one foot in the water, and hissed in pain as the cold stream came in contact with her abused skin. She did her best to clean the wounds, but she had no antiseptic nor any way of dressing them. She stared at them through the water. She focused on the little wounds and on what she wanted them to do. She rubbed them with her hands, feeling warmth enveloping them, and when she looked, her feet were healed.

She exhaled, relieved.

“That’s impressive healing magic,” she heard a voice behind her, and startled. She turned to find an older man, wrinkled and grey haired, wearing a cloak around shoulders. He had a bucket, so she assumed he wanted to fetch water.

“Are you a druid?” she asked, in typical Hermione fashion.

“That depends on who’s asking,” the man replied, more cautious now.

“I need help. I have nowhere to go,” Hermione said, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. He stared at her, before turning and gesturing for her to follow. She scampered after him.

“Where are you from?” the old man asked her.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, getting tired of that question.

“You come from the direction of Camelot,” the druid said.

“I just escaped from there,” Hermione replied.

“I didn’t hear the bells,” he commented.

“Nobody noticed, I guess.”

“And what were you doing in Camelot? It’s not safe for people like us.”

“Nothing,” Hermione replied, “I was attacked, and injured. The knights found me in the woods and brought me there.”

The man hummed, “Interesting.”

Soon they arrived at the druid camp. Hermione didn’t know what she was expecting, but a set of tents around a campfire was not it. It strongly reminded her of the way native Americans used to live in the American plains. She saw some men bringing firewood, some women cooking over the fire, and some women kneading some king of dough.

An older man, much older than her escort, welcomed them.

“Iseldir, you were sent to bring water, but instead, you brought a nymph,” the older man greeted them warmly. The compliment didn’t go over Hermione’s head, and she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

Her escort, Iseldir, laughed. “I saw her healing some wounds on her feet by the river. She’s escaped from Camelot.”

The elder’s eyes turned sympathetic, “Camelot is no place for us, my dear. What were you doing there?”

“I was attacked. The knights found me injured and brought me there, but I couldn’t stay,” Hermione said.

“You’re not from around here. Tell me, are you from one of our brothers’ camps?” the elder asked.

“No, sir. I come from a place where magic is permitted, which I realize now I took for granted. I can’t go back, and I’ve nowhere else to go,” Hermione tried to explain with a firm voice, but it came out choked as tears flooded her eyes. 

“You are welcome here then, my dear. A few miles back you passed the border into Caerleon, so King Uther cannot harm you here.”

“Thank you,” Hermione bowed somewhat awkwardly, not knowing if a handshake would be appropriate.

“You can start helping with breakfast. And you, Iseldir, go and fetch us some water,” the elder added with a chuckle.

Hermione did as she was told, hoping that somehow, far away from Camelot, she would be able to preserve as much of the present as she could.


	2. In Which Hermione Meets Mordred and Destiny is Changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Hermione waited with baited breath for a week until the full moon. It came and went and she didn't hear howling in the wind nor people screaming, and the next morning the people were calm. Hermione hoped that the reason she didn't hear any news was because Greyback was very dead or dying, and not because he was bidding his time and healing his wounds.

She was surprised to find that she quite enjoyed living in the forest when it didn't involve running for her life. It reminded her of the days her family went camping to the Forest of Dean, only this time camping became her permanent dwelling. She learned that the Druids used a rudimentary set of wards around the perimeter to protect and conceal their camp, and she itched to improve upon them by using the ones she knew that were more advance and more effective. When she suggested it, however, the Elder was clear that her help was not needed, so she didn't push.

The Druids welcomed her without too many questions and, because she was alone, they placed her with another young Druid around her age and her mother. The girl's name was Aida. She was bubbly, dreamy eyed, and from the way she talked Hermione assumed that this girl's goal in life was to find a good husband and raise a good family. It reminded Hermione oddly of how Lavender and Parvati would always gossip around their Witch Weakley, debating on which wizard would be best to date.

Her mother reminded her terribly of Mrs. Weasley with how she fretted around her when Hermione first arrived. Her name was Adeline and she insisted to be the one personally supervising Hermione's recovery from her wounds. She applied ointments around the bruises in her neck and provided lukewarm teas infused with herbs to stimulate the recovery of her vocal chords. She regularly changed the bandages on the gashes Hermione had around her midsection from when Greyback ripped away her clothes, and when she reached the cursed wound on her arm which spell that horrible slurred, she cried on her behalf.

Adeline soon discovered that the wound in her arm was not inflicted by just a normal blade and walked with Hermione to the healer, an older woman by the name of Agrona. Agrona took one look at the wound and declared that it was cursed. She attempted to heal it with magic, but any and all attempts only resulted in making the wound bleed, as if the curse reversed the effects of the healing spells. In the end, the healer gave her an ointment imbued with healing herbs but without magic, hoping that it would eventually close the wound. In the meantime, Hermione had to clean and redress the wound every day in the morning and in the evening.

For the first month after her arrival, Hermione was left to rest and heal. On the fourth week of her stay, the Elder deemed her fit enough so that she could start doing some mild chores, like cooking lunch and supper, gathering herbs and helping the old healer in anything she might need. It was with Agrona that Hermione took initiative and helped with ingredient preparation. Agrona was so impressed with how delicately she chopped the wormwood root and how meticulously she skinned the shrivelfigs, that she asked Hermione to brew a couple of potions all on her own.

Having trained under the eye of Severus Snape, Hermione's brewing was careful, methodical and as perfect as she could make it. It was more in spite of Professor Snape rather than because, but the results still impressed Agrona enough that Hermione's main chore became to assist the old lady in her potion making. Soon, word spread around the camp that Hermione might become the next healer of the camp.

The second full moon soon approached and Hermione's sense of dread grew along with it. Her guilt at having brought such a dangerous monster back to medieval England didn't help matters. The week leading up to it she woke up screaming and covered in cold sweat to Aida and Adeline's fretting. She tried to brush it off, but she couldn't keep her torture a secret forever, not that they hadn't suspected before what with her wounds. The second full moon came and went, and again, Hermione heard nothing. Instead of making her feel relief, a deep anxiety settled in her heart and in the back of her head as she waited for something, anything, to happen.

On the meantime, however, she settled into a routine. She was given more extraneous chores like curing animal skin for leather or washing the linens when it became clear she could handle it, and Hermione was more than happy to pay back to a community which had accepted her without question. Midway through her second month with the druids, Agrona asked Hermione if she wanted to become her apprentice.

Hermione, being Hermione, jumped at the opportunity to learn something new. Knowing that her apprenticeship would also include learning healing spells made it all the better. Since that first night in Camelot she hadn't had much of a chance to experiment with this new form of magic. She felt a bit self-conscious and unsure, because all the adults around her seemed to instinctively know how to use it, and this would give her the perfect excuse to ask questions.

As she settled more and more into a medieval setting, Hermione couldn't help but long for the time she grew up in. While she certainly missed modern commodities like plumbing and electricity, she mostly missed the people she grew up with. First on her list were Harry and Ron, and her worry about the gnawed at her conscience all the time. Then came her parents, who she had to admit she had taken for granted and now regretted it. How many times had she foregone spending time with them in order to stay at Hogwarts, or at the Burrow, or at Grimmauld Place? How many Christmases and New Years had she brushed off their attempts at trying to get to know her? Even in the summer when she went back home, she'd spent most of her time reading the coursework for next year rather than go with her mother to the cinema or help his father prepare dinner. She hadn't even noticed how far apart they had drifted until now, when she tried to recall meaningful experiences with them after her trip to France before her second year at Hogwarts.

There were people she saw everywhere, even in Medieval Times, like Lavender or Parvati in Aida, Mrs. Weasley in Adeline, Professor Sprout in Agrona, Professor Dumbledore in the Elder, and so many more. It was like she couldn't escape them even a thousand years into the past. But she squared her shoulders and swallowed her tears, trying to make the best out of a bad situation. She accepted the apprenticeship gracefully, thankful to have something that would distract her.

As the months progressed in similar fashion, Hermione stopped dreading the week of the full moon, and the people she interacted with stopped being ghosts of the past to became their own people in her eyes. For example, she learned that Aida yearned to get married to escape her mother's constant fretting, as Adeline had never quite recovered from her husband's execution and felt the need to almost possessively watch over Aida. Or that the Elder was an actual seer, not the farce Trewlaney had been at Hogwarts. Or that Agrona used to have a family, but that they were all killed during the Great Purge.

It was very interesting to Hermione that a genocide of such large proportions had never made it into the history books. Actually, she corrrected herself, there were Roman records that a group they called Druids had been exterminated on the basis that they were cannibals. Whether future historians were talking about the same genocide as the Great Purge and the same group of people called Druids, Hermione couldn't know... after all, even in this time period, the Romans were already gone from the Britsh Isles. Then again, history was written by the victors, so if King Uther Pendragon had anything to say about it, he would pretend magic had never existed.

In regards to her magic, the more she practiced with Agrona the healing spells she taught her, the easier it became for her to call on this form of wandless magic. The words of the dragon echoed in her mind. If magic was so easily accessible now, what happened to make it so unreachable in the future? She also noticed that it came almost naturally to her, as she channeled her intentions through her body and the right words spilled out of her mouth. She had to admit, though, it was a bit unnerving. Almost as if magic were alive.

She was also very much surprised to find that not every druid in the camp had magic. Hermione found herself wishing such peaceful coexistence was possible in a larger scale.

To commemorate her apprenticeship, she was given the druid tattoo.

"This tattoo will protect you among our people, wherever they may find you. It will also put you in danger outside of our communities, for there are some people who would kill us even when we've done no wrong," the Elder had told her right after he'd given her the tattoo.

Hermione nodded solemnly, understanding that people like Uther Pendragon would use the tattoo as the evidence of her wickedness and sentence her to burn at the pyre without any semblance of a trial. When she asked Agrona about it, she said that it was related to the prophecy of the Once and Future King, for it was said that his fall would come at the hands of a druid. Hermione snorted; of course King Uther Pendragon would fashion himself the Once and Future King. At least the legends got his utter arrogance right. On the other hand, it did put the statue of secrecy into perspective.

As time went on, and Hermione settled more into her medieval life, she found herself feeling content. Not quite happy, but the yearning and longing of the early days after her arrival diminished to allow her to bask in the beauty of a sunset, to appreciate a funny joke, to feel wonder at the new things she learned like that first time she visited Diagon Alley and to enjoy learning magic for the sake of learning magic. She didn't have to find the next spell that would kill Voldemort, or which would help them kill Hororcruxes, or which would allow Harry to come out of another battle unscathed. It was refreshing, but it did make Hermione feel guilty, too.

The only downside was that the druids didn't have books. In fact, all their knowledge was transmitted orally from one generation to the next, and they didn't use any form of writing instrument, except to send messages between camps. It made for people with wonderfully long memories, but Hermione was afraid she'd forget everything overnight. She also missed books. There was nothing like the smell of an old book when you opened it, or the feel of the pages under your fingers when you turned the page, or just losing yourself in the words.

One day near dusk, nearly five months since her arrival, as the camp was settling to eat their supper, the Elder stepped forward with a grave face.

"I wish I brought better news, but alas, it is not meant to be. One of our fellow druids and his son were captured in Camelot a few days ago. The father was executed just yesterday morning, and soon, the son will be executed too. I urge all of you to pray for the safe passing of their souls to the Other World. Pray that their souls may find in death the rest they couldn't find in life."

The people around the fire closed their eyes, inclined their heads, and murmured their prayers. Some didn't eat at all that night, deciding to show their grief by fasting. Others ate only bread and water. Hermione felt her appetite abandon her, even when she wasn't an overly religious person. She found herself hoping that the father and the son would find peace. The next morning she approached the Elder.

"How old was the boy?" she asked with a heavy heart.

"He was only eleven," the Elder answered and Hermione looked back on her own eleventh birthday. That was such an eventful year for her. Had it really been only six years ago? What would she have felt like if, instead of being happy, her parents had been angry and hateful? What would she have felt like if they had built a pyre to burn her? Or sent her to a psychiatric hospital? Tears came unbidden to her eyes when she thought of the fear the young boy must be feeling.

"Perhaps I could sneak in and save him," Hermione, always the Gryffindor, volunteered.

"Then you would die with him as well," the Elder said, shaking his head, "we can only pray that his passing is peaceful."

The rest of the day passed in a somber mood. They were lucky that they were just past the border with Camelot, otherwise they would be targets to Uther's tyranny. Hermione felt conflicted; she knew that she was guest on this time and anything she did to alter the predetermined events would have unnamed and dire consequences in the future, yet she didn't want to just sit still and let people die. Back in the future she'd been fighting against the tyranny of a wizard who wanted to eradicate muggles, and now she lived in a time where a muggle tyrant wanted to exterminate wizards. Being both, Hermione felt a despair she'd never felt before. Would she ever be wanted somewhere?

They were preparing for bed when Hermione saw the Elder approach her fast. He grabbed her arm and led her to where Iseldir was standing with another druid, a man named Dival.

"I have received a message from Mordred," the Elder started.

"Mordred?" Hermione asked, in disbelief. How many Modreds could there be in the Arthurian times? She hoped there were lots.

"Yes, the boy who was captured," the Elder clarified, believing her confusion stemmed from not recognizing the name, "he's told me he was smuggled out by Emrys and the prince of Camelot."

"Who's Emrys?" Hermione asked, feeling like she should know this by now.

"Later, child," the Elder chastised, and Hermione forced herself to comply and listen, "he's on his way here right now, but they will not be able to find the camp. I want you three to go meet him and bring him home."

The three of them bowed to the Elder and started walking through the woods in the direction the Elder pointed them.

"Who's Emrys?" Hermione asked Dival as they walked one step behind Iseldir.

"He is the most powerful warlock to have ever, and who will ever, live. According to the prophecies, he is the one who will guide the Once and Future King to unite all of Albion in peace and bring back magic to the land," Dival answered.

Hermione had never heard of this in the legends, but then again the legends painted Merlin almost as Arthur's grandfather. Still, she was tired of people relying on prophecies to dictate their lives. It was one stupid prophecy which ruined Harry's life, and by proxy, Sirius's and Remus's, and now they had to rely on another. Only once she head of King Arthur referred to as the Once and Future King. Well, a thousand years into the future and he was still dead.

Iseldir stopped walking and Hermione stopped one step behind him next to Dival.

Soon, they heard the gallops of a horse, and Prince Arthur came into view through the fog. He dismounted his horse and helped Mordred down. Hermione had the bizarre sensation of being a witness to history right then and there.

"We are forever indebted to you, Arthur Pendragon, for returning the boy to us," Iseldir said once Mordred started walking towards them and was within reach.

"You must not let it be known that it was I who brought him to you," Arthur replied.

"We will tell no one," Iseldir assured, "you have my word."

They nodded to each other, and slowly they turned towards the camp, bringing Mordred with them.

Just then Arthur looked at Iseldir's companions, and recognized Hermione, whose cloak wasn't enough to cover all of her face.

"You!" he exclaimed.

Hermione, put on the spot, immediately bowed low, "My lord."

"We looked for you for days! Why didn't you tell us you were a druid?" Arthur asked, forgetting himself.

"And face execution the same way his father has?" Hermione retorted, "I couldn't tell you where I was from."

"If you had nothing to hide, why did you run away?" Arthur retorted.

"Have I harmed you in any way, sire?" Hermione asked instead, "Have I threatened Camelot?"

"No, you haven't, but…"

"Then I don't have to answer to you, your highness," Hermione interrupted, "good night."

And just like that, the three druids turned like one and disappeared into the fog. They walked back to camp in silence, not quite knowing what to say. What could they say? When they arrived back at the camp they found most people awake. News of Mordred's arrival had spread and they were eager to welcome him into his new home.

Mordred himself seemed a bit unsure of his place in this new camp, and he sat by the fire in a log. Hermione got him some left-over bread, which was a bit hard, and some reheated stew. He ate as if he hadn't had the chance in days and Hermione felt a pang in her heart. Gradually people retreated into their tents, which was fair because Hermione was sure it was past midnight, but Hermione found she couldn't leave the child alone. Instead, she waited until he finished his food.

She wondered if she'd looked quite that vulnerable when she first arrived to Hogwarts.

Mordred soon finished his food and turned to look at her with a furrowed brow.

"You didn't have to sit with me," he said, looking into the fire.

"I didn't want you to be alone," Hermione replied.

"Thank you," Mordred said, as if he didn't know what else to say. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes, in which neither of the parties knew how to proceed.

"Don't you want to go to sleep?" Hermione asked, "You must be tired."

"I don't think I can sleep just yet," Mordred answered.

"Then I'll stay with you until you can."

He turned to look at her then. "What about your parents?"

"My parents are dead," Hermione said with a wince.

"I'm sorry," Mordred apologized.

"I'm sorry for your loss as well," Hermione replied, "maybe we can send word to your mom. Tell her you're safe."

"My mom died when I was little," Mordred said, "that's why I went to Camelot with my father. And now he's dead too."

He sniffled, and Hermione didn't know what to do. She didn't have any younger siblings so she didn't know how to comfort a child, especially not when she didn't like to cry at all. But she put a tentative hand on his shoulder, and Mordred appeared to have taken that as permission to hug her, where he continued to cry. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around him and rocked him until he fell asleep.

Hermione didn't know if this was the boy who was fated to kill King Arthur, but she really didn't care. She only saw a boy who was grieving the unfair loss of his father at the hands of a tyrant king. She didn't believe in prophecies anyway.

Yet, Hermione thought in the back of her head, if Mordred did end up killing King Arthur, she wouldn't blame him.

* * *

Back in Camelot, Arthur arrived to a disgruntled Merlin.

"How did it go?" his manservant asked wringing his hands.

"Clearly, it went well _Mer_ lin, or else, I wouldn't be here," Arthur retorted with an eye-roll.

"Your father is furious. He summoned you to his chambers, but I told him you weren't feeling well. Gaius corroborated the story, saying you were throwing up all night," Merlin commented.

"Well, I clearly look the part of a sleep deprived prince," Arthur said with a sigh, plopping down on the chair. Just then, there was a knock on the door.

"Quick, take your shirt off," Merlin said, going to the door, while Arthur very hastily threw his shirt to the floor and changed his trousers. To complete the picture, he sat on the chair and put his head between his knees, where Merlin had very cleverly put a bucket. Not that he would say that to him, of course.

The king strode in, walking all over Merlin and his excuses, determined to find his missing son and the culprit of freeing the boy. Much to his surprise, and embarrassment, he found the prince gagging over a bucket so convincingly that Merlin looked very disgusted thinking he would have to clean that.

"Arthur, your manservant tells me you've been ill," Uther said, trying to hide his surprise. The prince himself only raised his head to look at the king with dead eyes. The bag under them were prominent, so clearly Arthur had been up all night. Suddenly, the king felt bad for causing his son distress on top of his illness, believing that someone else must have freed the boy. "I hope you feel better," the king added lamely, before striding out of the room.

Merlin closed the door behind him, rushing towards Arthur.

"You're not really throwing up, are you?" he asked, clearly disgusted.

"No, you idiot," Arthur said, miraculously recovered and glaring at his manservant, "but you said I was ill and I had to look the part."

Merlin looked mildly impressed, "I never knew you could act."

"And I never knew you could lie your way out of something, but here we are," the prince walked over to his bed, fully intending on getting back his hours of sleep, "maybe tomorrow I'll be able to sleep until later if father really believed your story."

"Thank you, Arthur," Merlin said, "for helping the boy."

"Mordred," Arthur replied, "his name is Mordred."

"Right," Merlin said, hesitant, "good night, sire."

"Merlin," Arthur called back, prompting the manservant to stop halfway through his exit and turn around, "Hermione was there to greet us."

"Hermione?" Merlin asked, wide-eyed, "Did she say anything?"

"Yes, she said she didn't want to be executed like the boy's father, so she ran away," Arthur answered.

Merlin wasn't convinced, but he still nodded and left Arthur to catch up on his sleep. The next morning the king effectively allowed his son to recover a few hours of sleep, but nowhere near enough in Arthur's mind. Yet, his duties as prince were never over it seemed.

* * *

The next morning, Merlin relied the information back to Gaius.

"She's no druid," Gaius scoffed, "but I'm sure they welcomed her with open arms when they heard her plight."

"But what is her plight, Gaius?" Merlin asked, "she comes here claiming the man who attacked her was a werewolf, and his body vanished, so we can't know if she was telling the truth or if it was a ruse. Yet, she never did anything with that distraction. I was sure she'd gone to kill the king, or Arthur, when I woke up that day and I didn't find her, but she hadn't. She just… left Camelot to live with the druids. Something doesn't make sense here."

"While your deductive skills are impressive, Merlin, I don't think she ever wanted to come to Camelot," Gaius said in a placating manner, "if her magic was unstable at the time of her attack, she probably arrived here by mistake. You and the knights brought her here. As soon as she heard where she was, she ran away, probably in fear of her life, because that's what sorcerers who have done no wrong tend to do to survive."

"How can you be so sure?" Merlin asked, still hesitant to believe things could be _that_ easy.

"Because, my boy, I lived through the Great Purge," Gaius answered, "most people didn't want revenge on the royal family, they wanted to leave, and they escaped to the surrounding kingdoms."

"It still doesn't make sense," Merlin complained.

"It doesn't have to make sense to you," Gaius replied, "now eat your porridge."

* * *

Back at the camp, Hermione was looking over a sleeping Mordred.

"He'll be alright," Aida told her, bringing her some breakfast, "we've all lost someone."

"Doesn't mean it will be easy for him," Hermione retorted.

"You're right, Hermione, but worrying about him like this won't help him," Aida countered.

"Who'll worry if I don't? He doesn't have a mother, his father was killed just days ago, and now he's surrounded by strangers," Hermione said, "he needs someone to look after him."

"It seems as if you speak from experience," Aida said, narrowing her eyes. Despite constant insistence, she was no closer to discovering Hermione's past than she was at the beginning. She was a good girl, but awfully private. She didn't even gossip.

"I know what you're doing, and it won't work," Hermione rolled her eyes, "but to answer your question, I did know someone who lost his parents when he was a baby. No one was there to look after him, so he felt he had to everything on his own, even if it put him in danger."

Aida raised an eyebrow, "Like what?"

"Well, when I was Mordred's age, I was attacked by a troll. This kid, my best friend, fought against the troll so that I could escape," Hermione recounted, feeling a pang in her heart for Harry. Aida gasped.

"Did he survive?" her friend asked.

_Yes_ , Hermione thought, but she answered: "No," What use was it to say Harry had survived if she would never see him again and really couldn't divulge more information? "but I've always wondered what it would have been like if he had had parents to protect him from himself."

"I'm sorry," Aida whispered.

"Don't be," Hermione tried to smile, "it was a long time ago."

"I shouldn't have asked."

"You were curious."

"Still."

They stayed in silence, watching over the sleeping Mordred together.

"You would be a great mother," Aida suddenly said. Hermione choked on air.

"A mother? Me?"

"Who else, silly? You are old enough to marry, if you want, and I know a couple of people who would like the opportunity to have a family with you."

"Now you're being silly," Hermione said blushing, "there's no one who would like to marry me."

"I disagree, but it is your choice in the end," Aida said, standing up and leaving to do her chores, which reminded Hermione of her own duties with the healer. She sighed. She had never seriously thought about marriage; she was seventeen for goodness sake. Eighteen if she added the extra third year with the time turner. She first had wanted to have a successful career before even thinking about marriage and kids. Now, she didn't have a choice but marriage and kids, as there was little else for women in the middle ages to do.

"I'll be back soon, Mordred," Hermione whispered, before leaving to meet the healer. Hermione groaned, knowing she would get scolded for being late.

* * *

It was well past midday when Mordred came out of the tent. He still seemed lost within the camp, unsure, but rest had done him well. He came out and walked to Hermione, who was tending to the scrapes of a couple of children. She was smiling at them, and Mordred felt a surge of warmth for this stranger who'd stayed with him and held him until he fell asleep. He called to her.

_Hermione_.

She startled, and looked around. When she saw him, she smiled, and again, Mordred was overcome with a warmth he'd didn't think he'd ever experience again. He wondered if this is what it would have been like to have a mother looking out for him... or an older sister. She stood up from where she was tending to the children and walked towards him.

"Mordred," she said, "would you like some lunch? It should still be warm."

Mordred nodded. She seemed to understand his reluctance to speak and she didn't pressure him. As they walked to the fire where some leftover food was being kept warm, he grabbed her hand. She didn't pull away; if anything, she squeezed tighter.

She gave him a generous portion and once again sat with him while he ate. After a while, he told her something that had been bothering him for a while.

"I met Emrys in Camelot. Other people call him Merlin."

Hermione hummed, "I met him once."

"I called to him for help. He saved my life," Mordred frowned, "but afterwards he almost let me get caught by the guards."

"I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose," Hermione replied.

"He did," Mordred retorted, "I was calling him and he didn't answer. He didn't want to save me."

Hermione sighed, and looked around the camp for eavesdroppers, "How much do you know about the prophecies?"

"Only that Emrys will bring back magic along with the Once and Future King," Mordred answered in a small voice.

"Do you know the ending to that prophecy?" Hermione asked, and Mordred shook his head because his mouth was full, "the prophecy states that the Once and Future King will fall at the hands of a druid, preventing Albion from becoming a reality."

Mordred's hand stopped halfway to his mouth and he dropped it back in his lap. He looked at Hermione with wide eyes, filled with dread and fear. Hermione instantly regretted telling him about the prophecy.

"Did he think that druid is me?" Mordred asked, his voice trembling.

"Maybe, if he knows the prophecies," Hermione answered, trying to avoid encouraging Mordred's train of thought.

Mordred snorted and looked into the fire, though his gaze seemed far away, "He didn't even recognize his own name when I called out to him."

Hermione thought of the dragon she met that night, "Then someone else must have told him something."

"Do _you_ think I'm the druid who will kill the prince?" Mordred asked her then and boy, was that a loaded question.

And yet, looking into his eyes, which trusted her, she knew she could never lie to him. And while she knew that the legends claimed Mordred killed King Arthur, they also claimed Mordred was Arthur's son.

"There is something called a self-fulfilling prophecy," Hermione explained, trying to put into words why she'd always considered Divination to be total rubbish, "I had a friend who was prophesied to kill an evil wizard. The evil wizard heard half of the prophecy, and in his haste to prevent it, he made it happened. If he had never acted on it, the prophecy might have become void. Prophecies show us parts of the future that could happen, but they are not set in stone. If you believe you will kill the future king, then everything you do will serve that purpose."

Mordred's eyes widened, and the hope in there was unmistakable, "Are you a seer?"

"Gosh, no, of course not," Hermione scoffed, "I don't believe much in prophecies myself. If I had been the evil wizard and I had heard the prophecy, I would have disregarded it, and as such it would have never come to pass."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why don't you believe in prophecies?" Mordred repeated.

"Because I believe in making my own destiny," Hermione answered, "I choose where I want to go, and those decisions will shape my path."

Mordred nodded then, a determined look in his eyes replacing that awful fear from earlier.

"In that case, I choose not to kill prince Arthur, to whom I'm indebted. I will not kill anyone."

Hermione beamed at him. It was very easy in that moment to forget about the legends when she was looking at this adorable child declare with such innocent certainty that he would not be a killer. It was also very easy to forget for a second that she came from the future, and that giving Mordred this information might have unforeseen and undesirable consequences. Instead of dwelling on such things, she stood up and held out her hand to Mordred, who took it without hesitation.

"Come on, Mordred, Iseldir wanted to talk to you about your chores," Hermione said, and Mordred, finally acting like an eleven-year-old, groaned, complained and whined all the way there.

* * *

In the month that passed, Hermione was very pleased to see Mordred coming out of his shell a bit more. He started a tentative friendship with a girl named Kara, he did his chores dutifully even if he whined about them, and he started participating in the evening songs around the campfire. Every meal, however, he would only sit next to her, not that she minded of course.

At the end of the month, the Elder summoned Hermione to his tent.

"We have an urgent message to rely to a brethren camp in Essetir. You will be our envoy," the Elder said.

Hermione bowed her head and said respectfully, "I'm sure there are more experienced druids who could..."

"It must be you," the Elder insisted, "take Dival with you. He already knows of this assignment. You leave at once."

Hermione knew a dismissal when it was given. She took the sealed parchment and left without further arguing her point. She still felt unsure about the task, but if the Elder had personally ordered her to do so, it became an obligation. She quickly found Mordred to rely the news to him. Predictably, he whined.

"But why must it be you?" he asked.

"It is an honor to be chosen as an envoy to a brethren camp, and you would do well to remember it," Hermione said firmly, "I'll be back later. Be good. If I hear you misbehaved..."

Hermione left the sentence hanging hoping that Mordred really wouldn't do anything to call her bluff. She had no experience in child rearing, but she had always found spanking barbaric. She pushed those thoughts out of her head and went to look for Dival, who already had the supplies they were going to trade and was standing next to another man that Hermione had seen around but didn't really talk to.

It was a bit awkward to be introduced after so many months of living in close quarters with him.

"Hermione," she said with a nod.

"Alaric," he introduced himself with a nod as well.

"Dival," the older man said, and with that, they were off.

They walked for a little while before the two men with her stopped.

"Why did we stop?" Hermione asked.

"You didn't think we'd walk all the way there, did you? It would take us months!" Dival said with a chuckle. Even Alaric smiled. Hermione, still getting used to this new form of magic, didn't answer. Alaric and Dival were holding hands and waiting for her in their circle, so she held Alaric's right hand and Dival's left, and pop, they disapparated.

After months of not feeling the pull on her navel and the squeezing through a straw of normal apparition, this crude, rudimentary form of apparition had her retching.

"The first time is always the worst," Dival said, "you'll get used to it."

"You could have warned me," Hermione admonished, bringing her hand up to clean the mess around her mouth. Alaric, however, presented her with a handkerchief before she could, which she gratefully took with a smile.

"Thank you," she said.

Alaric blushed but nodded.

"So, where are we?" Hermione asked, finally.

"We are in Essetir. Our brethren camp is right over here."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and said, "I know we are in Essetir, but where is it located in relation to our camp?"

"Oh," Dival said, but it was Alaric who answered.

"It's on the other side of Camelot. Caerleon lies to the West, while Essetir lies to the East. The wards prevent us from transporting into their camp," Alaric chuckled, "because one time a brother druid transported himself right into the stew."

Hermione smiled, "I'm sure it was very funny."

"You have no idea," Alaric replied with a smile of his own, and Hermione realized that this was the most she'd ever heard him speak. Her smile grew.

"I wish I would have been there to see it," Hermione commented.

"Oh no, you don't. We had to redo the stew so everyone had to work double," Dival complained, prompting this time Hermione to chuckle. Seriously, Dival might have been the oldest of their group, but he acted like a child most of the time.

"How does your wife put up with you?" Hermione joked.

"You know, she grounds me just like she grounds the children," Dival replied, "sometimes even more than the children. She claims they are more mature than me."

Alaric laughed, "I have no doubt that they are."

Hermione echoed the laugh and Dival grinned.

After a couple of minutes, they arrived at the familiar sight of a druid camp, where they were in the middle of preparing lunch. A middle-aged man approached them.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" he exclaimed, "Dival, my good friend, it's been so long."

Dival smiled, "Good to see you too, Tanreid. This is Alaric, and this is our envoy, Hermione."

Tanreid looked surprise, "You must sure be gifted if the Elder decided to choose you as the envoy. Come, make yourselves at home."

"Thank you, it is an honor. These are for you," Hermione said, giving Tanreid a sack full with grain, linen, and an assortment of herbs to make remedies and potions which were easier to find in Caerleon than in Essetir. Tanried thanked them and led them to the campfire, where the children were seated eagerly awaiting their meal. Hermione was reminded of Mordred.

Soon, they saw the Elder walking towards them and they stood up to greet him. They bowed to him, and he smiled.

"My name is Hermione, and our Elder sends his blessing. He also sent this," Hermione produced a letter from a pocket in her robes, "with news."

"That's interesting," the Elder commented, "it's unusual to send for an entourage of three only for news." He opened the rolled parchment and read. His expression didn't betray anything, but when he finished, he gestured for them to follow him.

"Not you, just Hermione," the Elder clarified. Dival and Alaric immediately complied, going to help the rest of the camp with lunch. Hermione, confused and a bit alarmed, followed the Elder into the tent.

"This letter says that you are very gifted in magic, and show incredible control, yet you are not from any of our druid brethren clans," the Elder started.

Hermione felt the usual rock in her stomach when it came to talking about her past… or her future. "No, I'm not."

"Is there a reason why you refuse to tell us where you came from?" the Elder pressed.

"Yes, there are a couple of reasons. The first one is, that despite your knowledge in magic, you might simply not believe what I tell you. The second one is that my mere presence here is changing something, and I would like to avoid making a bigger mess by telling anyone about it," Hermione explained. During the short time she'd lived with the druids, she'd discovered that they would accept almost anything as long as it was the truth. Yet, she didn't want to reveal the truth to them, and she hoped her reasons would satisfy the Elder.

"So, you are admitting that you came here through magical means?" the Elder asked.

"Yes, but it was an accident," Hermione argued, "I mean you no harm."

"This letter also says that the prophecies have changed," the Elder continued, "in all my years, it has never happened that a prophecy changes. New prophecies that intertwined are normal, even expected, but one prophecy changing is unheard of."

"What prophecy?" Hermione asked with trepidation.

"It was seen a long time ago that Emrys would help the Once and Future King unite Albion and bring in a new era of prosperity for _all_ its inhabitants. This has come to be interpreted as bringing back magic and, therefore, balance to the land. Only one is there to oppose and jeopardize this new golden era, and that is a young druid by the name of Mordred who will join the witch Morgana in evil when he grows up. But now, Mordred has a choice. He can choose to join Morgana in evil or…" the Elder opened the parchment and read from it, "the witch of light who came through the sands of time." The Elder fixed Hermione with an undecipherable look that made her uncomfortable.

"You mean me?" Hermione asked.

"That's what we're trying to find out," the Elder answered, "you were not born a druid, even though it would have been the safest place for you to grow up with a talent such as yours. When was the first time you remember doing magic?"

"I was four," Hermione answered, "my mother wasn't paying attention to me, but I wanted a toy. It floated up to me."

The Elder nodded, "Despite this, you show incredible control and command of your magic, which means you have been taught. Who's your teacher?"

"I had a lot of teachers," Hermione said, "but that's all I can say."

"You don't have to tell me where you come from; we learned a long time ago to respect people's secret. However, if you think this prophecy applies to you, you must tell me."

Hermione nodded, "I think it might."

"Very well," the Elder said, and then he sat down in front of her, "I was a child when my teacher sat me down and explained to me about the prophecies of old. It was with a grave heart that he explained that a druid would be the downfall of the Once and Future King. He learned it from his teacher, who learned it from his, who was a seer. You do not belong here in this era, but you have given us hope that Mordred will not forfeit his peaceful ways and seek the death of the Once and Future King. If you succeed on this, we and the entire magical community will be indebted to you."

Hermione shook her head, reeling from this information. This went against everything she'd been taught.

"But you said it yourself; I'm not supposed to be here. How can I meddle in these affairs without damaging the very fabric of existence?"

"Can you go back to where you came from?" the Elder asked.

"I don't know, but from the research I did back then, it shouldn't be possible," Hermione said, "and if I _do_ find a way to go back, I will probably die within the hour of my return."

"Then this has become your home," the Elder continued, "you cannot stop yourself from interacting with the world around you. As you said, your mere presence here is changing something, but it might be for good."

"Then what am I supposed to do with what I know?" Hermione asked, a plead in her voice, "am I supposed to carry on and disregard the consequences? Am I allowed to act on it to prevent horrible things from happening in the distant future?"

"You have to be careful with your knowledge and with whom you share it," the Elder warned, "I would not recommend actively seeking change. Magic demands balance: for every life you give, another is taken somewhere else. While trying to prevent one thing from happening, another of equal magnitude could occur instead. My advice is that you live. Let things develop on their own, and they might bring about the change you seek."

Tears flooded Hermione's eyes. Part of her had clinged onto hope for a miracle that would send her back to the future without consequences. Now, it seemed to her, that hope was shriveling like an unwatered rose and it hurt more than she could have predicted. The Elder looked at her with sympathetic eyes.

"Sometimes, knowledge can be a burden," the Elder said with immense compassion, "you can't let your knowledge get in the way of your happiness. You need to learn how to take things as they come and go because even with all the knowledge in the world, there will be things you cannot control."

"But what if I ruin things?" Hermione asked, trying to stop the flow of tears.

The Elder didn't have an answer, so he left the tent to give Hermione some privacy. Hermione was grateful for this and allowed herself to cry. She was crying for all the people she'd lost and who she could never get back to, but she was also crying because suddenly she felt the overwhelming pressure on her shoulders to save the future.

It was ironic, really, because she seeked the Druids in order to distance herself from King Arthur and Merlin and the legend that revolved around them only to find herself looking after Mordred. On top of that, his fate hinged on her. How had things gotten so complicated all of the sudden?

She decided then that, just like she told Mordred when they met, that she wouldn't let a prophecy dictate her future. She would do what she thought was right, and at the moment, that meant taking care of a lonely boy who'd lost everything. She would cross the other bridges when she got to them. It was the only thing she could do, or she would go crazy with worry and apprehension.

For now, she'd look after Mordred the way she had been doing up until now. The same way Mrs. Weasley took care of Harry and her as if they were her own. The same way Adeline fretted over her when she first arrived with the Druids. Because Mordred needed her. He trusted her. And she would be dammed if she allowed herself to disappoint him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. I kind of cheated by putting the scene in the second chapter as part of the summary, but I think that really sums up the story nicely. Please leave a review, a favorite or a follow to this story.
> 
> I'm trying to write as much as possible before the beginning of the school year in a week and half and all the complications that will come with that.
> 
> Until we meet again,  
> ClearEyes.


	3. In Which Hermione Puts Prince Arthur in his Place... sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Close to where Hermione was having an existential crisis at the Druid camp, there was a small farmer village called Ealdor. While it was usually a peaceful place full of hard working peasants, on this particular day they were fighting against a band of mercenaries under an awful man named Kanen. Merlin was there, along with Prince Arthur, the Lady Morgana and Gueneviere trying to fend off the mercenaries and clearly failing at it.

In a desperate bid to turn the tide, Merlin summoned a whirlwind which wreaked havoc on Kanen's forces and allowed the makeshift army of three days to win the battle. Kanen was killed, and finding themselves without a leader, the surviving mercenaries fled. They ran into the forest and straight into the Druid camp, which even though it was protected against magical threats, it was vulnerable to physical attacks. The mercenaries stormed into the camp, slashing at anyone who got in their way with their swords, while some other attempted to take women, trying to regain their lost pride.

Hermione, still in the tent, heard the screams of the Druids and ran out to find a massacre taking place. With the tears still fresh on her cheeks, Hermione decided she would not stand still and allow it to continue. She caught a glimpse of Dival and Alaric trying to defend the children, while other members of the clan used branches to defend themselves from the mercenaries, but tree branches are nothing against swords.

Hermione, having grown up in a Wizarding World riddled with intrigue and war, was well aware that the best defense was a good offense. Ron taught her that.

She spread her magic around the camp like a blanket, feeling it envelope her in warmth. She asked it to attack, and her lips moved of her own accord, " _Andfeng_." She saw the tendrils of her magic lash out at the attackers, tripping them up, smashing them against trees. " _Astrice,_ " she directed towards the last of the offenders, sending them flying against different objects and knocking them out. " _Lesan_ ," she commanded, and the bandits were rounded up in the center of the camp, where she proceeded to tie them up with rope. They tried to fight against the ropes, yelling obscenities at her the whole time, and Hermione's tempered flared along with her magic. _Smyltnes_ , she said, and as if pressing the mute button on a remote control, their voices quieted even when their mouths were still moving. That only seemed to enrage them further and their faces turned red as they attempted to outshout the spell, but still their voices were silent.

Slowly, from the trees, people started creeping back into the camp. A lot of the men were dead on the floor; the elder who she had come to see lying lifeless on the ground, staring at her with unseeing eyes. A lot of the women hastily ran to their tents in an attempt to regain their modesty, and Hermione hoped against hope that these men hadn't done anything but rip off their clothes. Seeing them like that brought back flashes of Fenrir Greybck, leering at her with the intent of raping her, and she threw up right where she stood. A hand pushed her hair out of the way, and when she put herself back together, she saw Alaric was looking at her with concern.

The oldest man in the camp to survive, Tanreid, approached her. He would be acting as the Eldest until the emergency passed. The women who were still out and about brought linen sheets to cover the bodies, the children were ushered to the river by a couple of older ladies who his away during the attack, and the survivors convened around the fireplace.

"We don't condone the use of magic for violent acts," Tanreid said in a clear voice, "but Hermione was only made a druid a few months ago, so on this occasion, and seeing how her quick thinking saved a lot of lives which would have been otherwise lost, we will overlook this violation. However, Hermione, next time we might not be so forgiving."

Hermione bowed her head, feeling properly chastised. She had broken their golden rule, and while she got used to breaking the rules with Harry and Ron over the years, she had never liked it. Alaric patted her shoulder, as if to comfort her albeit a little awkwardly.

"Who are these men? Where did they come from?" Dival asked, who Hermione was relieved to see had also survived.

"They work for Kanen," Tanreid replied, "he raids small villages around the area, takes their food and their women. I don't know why they're here."

"It looked like they were running away from something, somewhere," Hermione mused.

"The only village close enough to this camp is Ealdor, but they have always cooperated with Kanen. He has them well threatened," another druid, a young teen with fire in his eyes, declared with disdain.

"Put yourself in their shoes, Roland," Tanreid said.

"If I was in their shoes, I would fight," the teen, Roland, spat, "we have magic, we could defend these people, just like she did."

"We could still go and help them," Hermione pipped in, "we could heal them."

"We don't meddle with their affairs, and they don't meddle with ours," Tanreid said with a shake of his head.

"Isn't this your affair now? They brought their conflict to you," Dival retorted.

"I'm sure they didn't mean to. Right now, we have to tend to our wounded," Tanreid said with finality and people started to disperse.

"In that case, we will take our leave. They expect us back at our camp," Hermione pipped in.

"You have my blessing," Tanreid replied, "your elder will understand why we cannot send supplies now, but be assured that the supplies you brought will be very helpful to us in this situation." He bowed in farewell, as well as Hermione, Dival and Alaric, and the three of them took their leave.

After they were ways away from the wards, Dival and Alaric stopped, but Hermione carried on.

"I thought I told you we didn't need to walk all the way," Dival said in an attempt at being humorous and relieve the tension.

"I'm not going back just yet," Hermione replied, "I'm going to Ealdor."

"Why?" Alaric asked, puzzled.

"They need help. The druid camp might not want to get involved, but we are not part of this camp, and I didn't grow up in the ways of the druids," Hermione countered, never stopping.

After a few minutes, she heard their footsteps resume after her. They arrived at Ealdor within the hour, to find it in ruin. There was smoke, broken fences, destroyed houses, and bodies of men littering the floor. But what Hermione wasn't expecting, was to find Merlin and Prince Arthur at the site. The prince was bellowing, red in the face.

"Who did that? Wind like that doesn't appear from nowhere. I know magic when I see it," the prince was yelling. Hermione felt the urge to punch him. She saw a man behind the prince with a crossbow. He shot at the prince. A man next to Merlin shouted a warning, but it would have been too late. Hermione shot out her hand, and the arrow stopped hovering right in front of Arthur's chest.

"Magic just saved your life twice, Arthur Pendragon," Hermione said, loud and clear for everyone to hear.

Arthur got red in the face again, "You mean to say you did that?"

"I didn't say that, but because of your scuffle here with these men, our camp was raided and trashed. We have to defend ourselves somehow," Hermione retorted.

Arthur didn't know what to say. No one had ever challenged him like that before. The villagers were looking between them, wondering who'd win this battle of wills. Dival and Alaric kept their faces carefully neutral. Even Merlin looked aghast.

"Magic is illegal," Arthur finally said.

"Not here," Hermione replied firmly, "you are not within Camelot's borders, my lord, so your law doesn't apply here. Whoever did magic in your presence here is protected by the laws of this kingdom, unless of course, you want to start a war."

"Magic is evil," Arthur seethed, not wanting to acknowledge that this woman of all people was right.

"Right, so I'll take that to assume you don't want our help healing your injured?" Hermione asked, and then shrugged, "that's why we came here instead of staying in the camp to aid our brethren; to offer assistance. If you don't want it, then we'll leave."

Arthur was relived to hear that, even if he didn't show it, but one of the women of the village approached Hermione with a gash on her arm. Arthur knew that woman would never move that arm normally again. The woman presented Hermione with her arm, and Hermione smiled at her reassuringly.

"It's going to be alright," she assured, and placed her hand above the wound, "Þurhhæle dolgbenn."

Arthur had a warning on his lips, very much intending to save this woman's life, but much to his confusion, the woman didn't cry out in pain as he expected. Instead, he saw right in front of his eyes how the skin came together and mended, disappearing as if it had never been there. If he had seen Hermione's eyes, he would have noticed their golden glow. When she finished, the woman tried moved her wrist and her fingers, and exhaled relieved when she could move them freely.

"Are you going to arrest me, sire?" Hermione asked, defiantly, to a gaping Arthur.

Arthur just stormed into Hunith's house, determined to pack his things and leave to a place where things made sense.

As soon as Arthur left, Merlin approached her. "That was very stupid," he chastised, "brave, but stupid."

"I didn't lie," Hermione retorted, making Merlin flinch, "I know that if someone here did something, it was you. I just saved your life."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Merlin glared.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about," Hermione retorted with a glare of her own, "I will not be ashamed of my gifts, and I will use them to the benefit of the people, just the way it should be."

"That way of thinking will get yourself killed," Merlin argued.

"Then so be it," Hermione said with finality, moving on to the line of villagers that had formed in front of Dival and Alaric. Most of the wounds were superficial, and as such they got tonics and potions they had brought with them. Only a man with a concussion and a woman with a broken leg got a spell to treat their wounds. When it was over, Hermione noticed that there were two women on the sidelines talking to Arthur and Merlin who she hadn't noticed before.

She approached them, curious about who they were. As soon as she was within reach, Arthur put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Not everyone with magic is after your life, Arthur Pendragon," she said, giving a nod to acknowledge the two women there. She extended her hand, "my name is Hermione, nice to meet you."

"You're that girl they found in the woods, aren't you?" the fair woman with dark hair asked, "I'm Morgana, King Uther's ward."

Hermione's eyes widened in realization, and she curtsied immediately to hide her face, "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

Was this the woman who would become Merlin's nemesis? She seemed so nice, which was jarring compared to the image Hermione had expected of her. She had pictured her a bit more like Bellatrix Lastrange. She wondered how Morgana turned to evil and if she could prevent it. She pushed the thought aside and rose up, looking at the dark-skinned woman hoping that the Lady Morgana wouldn't read anything on her expression.

The dark-skinned woman eyed her with open suspicion.

"I'm Guinevere," she said, taking Hermione's hand briefly, as if afraid that brief contact would burn her. Hermione barely suppressed the urge to swoon. This was the future Queen of Camelot. She's always pictured her as a princess, but oh well...

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Hermione replied, "if that's all you need, we'll take our leave."

"Don't come to Camelot, again," Arthur warned at her back.

"With all due respect, sire, I didn't go to Camelot in the first place. You brought me there," Hermione reminded the prince, whose eyes widened and his face paled, "and you would do well to remember that today magic saved your life twice, Arthur Pendragon."

With that, Hermione, Dival and Alaric walked into the woods, where they transported themselves home to their camp in Caerleon. They delivered the bad news with a heavy heartto the Elder, who announced it sadly at supper and urged the people to pray for the souls of the fallen. The trio wisely kept their intervention in Ealdor to themselves.

Mordred launched himself to Hermione and hugged her tight. She noticed that he was trembling, probably shaken by the news of the attack in the other camp and knowing that she was in danger. Hermione hugged him back tightly.

"I'm okay," she reassured him, "I'm here."

He didn't reply, and instead wiped at his face attempting to hide his tears. Hermione didn't call him out on it and both walked to sit by the fire. If Mordred sat closer to her that night, Hermione didn't mention it.

* * *

As another month sloth-ed by in relative peace, Hermione saw Mordred grow into a more confident boy. He was actively seeking out the other kids now, and showing that he had strong opinions just about anything. That, or he really liked to argue. Hermione found herself overcome with a fierce sense of protectiveness towards him, and knowing that his fate depended on her scared her. What if she screwed it all up? Still, when Mordred looked up from the game looking for her, she smiled and ushered him on. She didn't share her worries for her, because what would that help? She was determined to be a figure Mordred could rely on after her own experiences with absent, neglectful, uncaring or downright cruel adults put her in danger in too many ocassions.

She recalled that Mordred had been in Camelot already, and she wondered if he'd already met the Lady Morgana.

"Oh, I know her," Mordred exclaimed, his eyes turning bright at the mention of the Lady and Hermione's chance encounter with her, "she hid me in her room while the king was looking for me. She saved me."

Hermione smiled tightly, "What did you think of her?"

"Well, she was nice. She often stroked my hair and tended to the wound in my arm. She argued with the prince on my behalf, you know, and convinced him to smuggle me out," Mordred recounted.

"She did?" Hermione asked, prompting him to continue the retelling of his time in Camelot while Hermione pondered this new information.

The Lady Morgana wasn't evil, at least not yet, and Mordred didn't seem to think she had any magical abilities. Perhaps, because she lived in Camelot and constantly saw the executions of magical people, her magic was attempting to protect her by hiding in her. That could prove to be disastrous in the future, as magic was prone to lash out if it wasn't used, especially while emotions were heightened. She wondered if there was still some hope for her.

Hermione shooed Mordred away soon after because of her apprenticeship with Agrona. Mordred whined because, just like all the children in the camp with magical abilities, he had to go to Iseldir to train his magic. Mordred didn't like it because, at the moment, they were working on meditations and control. It was very boring, according to him. It caused Hermione to wonder if having a wand made control easier and people lazier; her theory was that as time went on and wizards found easier, more effortless ways of accessing magic, they lost the ability to sense it around them. Perhaps it caused magic to recede as well, kind of like making itself smaller, in order to fit in the wands and their cores. She made a mental note to research that if she could.

A few days later, the camp received a message from their brethren in Camelot, asking for asylum while the drought passed. Of course, the Elder sent an immediate reply welcoming them and Hermione helped prepare the camp with extra tents, blankets and the like in order to accommodate their guests. When the influx of Druids arrived, they went straight for the water and the food which had been laid out just for them. Sitting around the campfire, the newcomers shared the news from Camelot for everyone to hear.

"The Prince went hunting, which wasn't unusual. We always have to strengthen the wards and be very quiet when he goes hunting, which is often enough to be bothersome, and this time it was no different," a woman was retelling in between mouthfuls of food, "but this time he ran into a unicorn. Lyndon, who had guard duty then, saw it."

The man named Lyndon gushed, "It was the most majestic creature I have ever seen. I have never felt such peace in my entire life."

"In any case, the prince clearly thought so too, and that it would look even better as a trophy in his castle, because he shot it and sawed off the horn. Of course, everyone knows that killing a unicorn brings about a curse. Everyone but the prince because King Uther has only fed him lies about magic," the woman ranted, and Hermione sighed in aggravation.

She remembered, from her first year, what she learned in her first year at Hogwarts when they found that Voldemort had been drinking unicorn blood. Perhaps because the curse fell exclusively on him there wasn't a drought in Scotland? Or perhaps magic was that much weaker in the future, who knew... The point was that the prince's ignorance was causing more harm than good. She didn't really know him but she was again overcome with the urge to punch the git.

The Druids from Camelot stayed for a week and then returned to Camelot when word got around that the drought had passed. Hermione was puzzled, and she asked Alaric about it.

"But why don't they leave?" Hermione asked, "with Uther as king, they will always be in danger there"

"It's their home," Alaric answered, with a shrug.

Hermione didn't reply because she could relate to that feeling. Even when the threat of Voldemort had been looming over their heads, and she knew it would have been safer to continue her education in Beuxbatons or any other school, she'd refuse to leave Hogwarts behind. England was the place where she grew up, Hogwarts was where her friends were, and she would fight to defend it.

Alaric seemed to understand she needed a moment to herself, so he quietly left her to her musings. Ever since that day in Ealdor, Alaric had become a good friend. He was always ready to lend her a hand when she was bringing water from the stream, or making food, or sometimes just gathering herbs for the potions. He was a good listener, she realized, and he never judged her. He looked so serious all the time, that when he cracked his first joke in her presence, Hermione chortled and cackled until her stomach hurt. It was so unexpected to discover his subtle sense of humor, and she found herself enjoying his company.

Hermione sighed before returning to the potion at hand. It had become a light golden color, which meant she had to add the roots of rosemary and lavender. Then she had to stir twice clockwise and the medieval version of the Pepper Up potion would be ready. All of the sudden, Mordred came stomping towards her and sat down next to her, definitely not pouting.

Hermione chuckled, "What happened now?"

"Kara is being mean," Mordred said, crossing his arms.

"How so?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

"She won't let me play," he answered, "she said only children without magic could, otherwise it was cheating."

"And is it cheating?" Hermione asked.

"Not if I don't use it," Mordred whined.

"Well, why don't you tell her that?"

"I did! But she still said I couldn't play," Mordred replied, but he wasn't meeting her eye.

"Is that the only thing you said?" Hermione prompted.

Mordred didn't answer for a couple of minutes, looking away from Hermione while worrying his lip. Finally, he caved, "I might have also called her a fat pig."

Hermione gasped, "Mordred! No wonder she didn't let you play if you were so rude to her."

"She started it," he whined, again.

"But you continued it. If someone wrongs you, but you retaliate, you stoop down to their level. I cannot go and scold Kara for not letting you play if you said something so horrible to her," Hermione explained.

Mordred looked put out, clearly expecting Hermione to side with him. Hermione sighed. She had gathered more experience in child rearing in the past few months than in her whole eighteen years of life.

"You should apologize," Hermione continued, "tell her you're sorry, that you won't say it again and that you will not use your magic to cheat if she lets you play. Maybe she'll forgive you."

Mordred's lip quivered slightly, "What if she doesn't?"

"Try again tomorrow, and the day after, until one day she will," Hermione answered, "but you have to show you are truly sorry, and be very careful so that it doesn't happen again."

"But she should apologize too!" Mordred demanded.

"She should, but I cannot go and demand an apology from her if you don't apologize as well. The both of you acted wrong, and the both of you should apologize. Yet, sometimes, when you make a peace offering, people will reciprocate in kind with an apology of their own. Do you want me to come with you?"

"No!" Mordred exclaimed, mortified, "they will know I told on them and they will never let me play again!"

Hermione chuckled, "Fine, I won't come with you, but you should still apologize."

Mordred remained silent for a moment, "Maybe I could help you bottle these herbs?"

"As long as you don't break any of the jars, you may," Hermione conceded, knowing that Mordred would apologize by dinner time but that now he needed to come to terms with what he had to do first. She noticed that he had a sweet disposition and was easily hurt, which he tried to mask with anger and hurtful words. They worked side by side for about an hour. While Mordred bottled and classified the herbs, Hermione finished more Pepper Up and the one that cured the stomach flu, as the cold season was slowly but surely creeping in.

Then, Hermione went to gather water for supper while Mordred went to gather the firewood with the other children. By the time Hermione got back and started helping with the stew, Mordred had returned holding Kara's hand and trying to balance all the firewood in his other. She smiled to herself.

The rest of the evening passed peacefully. Some of the men started singing and soon everyone joined. It reminded Hermione of songs around a bonfire, and the only missing element was the roasted marshmallows and the guitar. However, they had suitable replacements for those things in the middle ages. Some of the women brought out some drums made out of animal skin that looked very old, while others distributed some wild berries they had turned into sweet preserves. It wasn't the same, but it was just as enjoyable.

At some point, Mordred asked Kara to dance with him "like the adults" and Kara timidly accepted.

"They seem to like each other," Alaric said next to her, startling her out of her thoughts. Hermione turned to him.

"Yeah, they do, but at their age no one really knows what will happen in the future," Hermione mused.

"Maybe, but I know some people in the camp have wagers on them," Alaric said with a smirk. Hermione opened her mouth and pretended to be terribly offended.

"They're just children," she exclaimed, purposefully melodramatic, earning a chuckle from Alaric.

"Perhaps you would also like to dance with me 'like the adults'," Alaric asked, offering his hand.

Hermione hesitated. The only experience, if it could be called that, with dating had been Victor Krum in first year. And while she and Ron had danced around their feelings, nothing ever came of it. Now, a man whose company she enjoyed was asking her for a dance. The Elder of their brethren camp told her that she had to live. Did that mean accepting Alaric? Probably. What did that entail? Was she expected to have to marry at the end of the year? To have children and a family in two?

Did she want that?

She was mature, smart and level headed, despite her young age, and some might even consider her beautiful. Could she reciprocate Alaric's feelings? What would happen if she didn't? He was a good friend and she didn't want to lose him. Had she thought about what it would be like to have a future with him? Perhaps... but she'd always pictured herself older. At least twenty-three. On the other hand, she could certainly do worse, for sure.

She looked at him, at his earnest expression which he was trying to hide behind a sweet, small smile which faltered with every second that passed. Finally, using her gut more than her brain, she grabbed his hand and let him lead her to the impromptu dance floor the people had cleared on the dirt next to the campfire.

"I must ask, Alaric," Hermione asked, after a few twirls that didn't really match the rhythm played by the drums, "what are the druids customs when it comes to couples?"

Alaric blushed, which was as uncommon as to see the sky turn green, "I'm sure Aida could explain it better than I."

Hermione pursed her lips, "What I meant is that… I know in some places is customary to ask for a guardian's blessing before beginning a," Hermione hesitated. She wanted to say a relationship, but she felt it was too anachronistic and that Alaric might not understand what she meant, "formal courtship."

Alaric remained silent, as if not following her.

Hermione rephrased, "What do you want from me?"

"Well," Alaric started, and Hermione noticed his hand was slightly sweaty where it touched hers, "you are compassionate, caring and clever. You are brave, braver than any other person, man or woman, I've ever known. I also find you very pretty."

Hermione felt her cheeks warming up despite herself. No one had ever been outspoken about her qualities; Victor Krum was very quiet, never speaking much, and Ron was just oblivious, and this obliviousness caused him to say mean comments about her a lot. To hear someone praising her qualities was a new, not entirely unpleasant, experience for her.

She cleared her throat, "That doesn't answer my question."

"I would like to court you, if you'll allow me," Alaric continued after a beat, "because you're on your own, it's customary to ask the elder for the blessing."

"Why didn't you?" Hermione asked.

"I did, but as an honorary druid member, he said it was up to you," Alaric explained, "if you do accept my courtship, he will give us his blessing."

It should have been an indication to Hermione that she felt more warmth from knowing the Elder called her a honorary druid than hearing Alaric talking to her about courtship, but as intelligent as she was, she was also young and maybe just lonely enough to let herself fantasize about falling in love.

Gradually, the music died down and people shuffled sleepily to their tents. Hermione and Alaric remained where they were.

"I would like to accept your courtship," Hermione said after a little while, wondering if she was making a mistake.

* * *

Word spread quickly about their courtship. The next morning, Aida cornered her in their tent before Hermione left to do her chores.

"Well?" Aida asked, eyes wide and eager.

"Well what?" Hermione asked.

"Tell me about Alaric," Aida pressed, "when did you start looking at him like that, Mrs. Nobody-will-want-to-marry-me?"

"There's nothing to tell," Hermione replied with an eyeroll, "he asked me if I would accept his courtship and I said yes. It doesn't mean we'll get married yet."

"I know, but do you want to?"

Hermione sighed, "I don't know. I have never thought about marriage before, I'm still just seventeen."

Aida scoffed, "I know some women here who got married when they were fourteen. By their standards, you're already an old maid."

"By my standards I'm still just a child," Hermione retorted, "I'm just starting to enjoy my life here, and I would like to wait before making any major changes."

"Nobody is saying you have to marry tomorrow," Aida sighed, "but it's nice when a good man decides he wants to make a life with you. After all, you could do much worse."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Hermione scoffed, "I don't want to marry someone just because I could do worse in life. I want to marry someone I admire; someone I love and can look up to."

"And Alaric doesn't fit that criteria?"

"He could," Hermione said, "but the truth is we still don't know a lot about each other. He is a good listener and he has never judged me because of my past..."

"Which you still haven't told us much about, by the way," Aida interrupted. Hermione made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

"He respects my decisions and trusts my judgment, which is something I didn't expect when I got here, and he is a good man. He will be a perfect husband to someone... I'm just not sure if that someone is me."

"He likes you and you like him, why does it have to be more complicated than that?" Aida asked, "my mom always says that when my dad and her got married, they didn't know a lot about each other, but with time they grew to love each other very much. Marriage is not about finding the perfect person to be with, but making it work with the person you choose."

Speaking of whom, at that moment Adelaine barged into the tent and demanded why they hadn't started their respective chores. Knowing that there was no fighting against Aida's mother, Aida and Hermione quietly exited the tent and went to their different chores.

Hermione pondered over what Aida said while she went to air the linens. She understood on a basic level that the way she saw relationships was biased because she was born on the twenty-first century. She knew that marriage started as a way for women to find financial security and stability; that little was expected of them except to rear the children, and sometimes bear a male hair like in the case of royalty. She always disagreed vehemently with looking at marriage as a transaction. Who didn't want to be swept off their feet, after all? Who didn't want to marry for love?

Yet, what Aida said challenged her beliefs in a way she hadn't predicted. She had never stopped to think that perhaps there were women who craved that financial security and stability during unstable and troubled times. She had never considered that perhaps these women who married because it was convenient grew to love their husbands, and their husbands grew to love them as well.

But even if that was the case, Hermione wasn't from the middle ages and she didn't want to marry because it was convenient for her. Could she bear to become an old maid, though? If she didn't accept Alaric's courtship and eventual marriage proposal, would she be sealing her fate to a life of loneliness until she died?

Hermione glanced at Adeline, who was also airing the linens. Adeline looked fine. She was a short woman of a robust build. She was strong and her hands were calloused. She loved fiercely and without conditions, as proven by how she just took Hermione in without asking questions. But sometimes, when they sat around the fire for supper, Adeline's eyes would glaze over and she would clutch at a pendant in her neck like a lifeline. She never cried, though.

Hermione didn't know if she wanted to marry yet, though. One day in the future perhaps, but not now. Not when things were so uncertain and Mordred depended on her.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Mordred approached her but she didn't notice, so when he asked, she jumped, "Are you okay, Hermione?"

"I'm fine," Hermione replied, willing her racing heart to calm down and going back to airing some linen sheets.

"You've been airing the same sheet for a while now," Mordred remarked. He waited for a few seconds and then asked, "does this have to do with Alaric?"

Hermione sighed, "What did you hear?"

"I heard that he started courting you," Mordred replied, scuffing his shoe on the dirt, "and you didn't reject him."

"Does that bother you?" Mordred shrugged, but she could tell he wasn't being honest, "I'm not going to stop spending time with you even if Alaric is courting me."

Mordred looked up at her wide eyed, "But then you'll get married, and you'll have babies and then you won't have time to be with me anymore."

So much for not wanting to think about it anymore, Hermione thought to herself. She looked at Mordred, who resolutely refused to meet her eyes. From spending so much time with the Weasleys, but especially with Ron, she knew that sometimes a child felt insecure in their place when it came to older or younger siblings. She wondered if Mordred thought she would replace him.

"Maybe I will get married, and maybe I'll have children, and maybe I'll be more busy than usual," Hermione said slowly, and Mordred's shoulders slumped, "but I will make time for you, Mordred. Don't ever doubt that anyone could replace you."

He looked at her in the eye, as if he was searching for any indication she might be lying, and when he didn't find one, he gave a firm nod.

"Well, but he'd better treat you right," Mordred declared, "or else I'll put a toad in his trousers."

"Mordred!" Hermione exclaimed, smiling slightly.

Alaric, who had arrived just in time to hear that last part, laughed out loud, causing them both to look at him. Mordred turned red and scampered away, probably to find Kara, while Hermione simply shook her head and turned to Alaric. He, in turn, presented her with a small bouquet of wild flowers, clearly freshly picked.

"Good morning," he said, smiling at her.

"Good morning," Hermione said, taking the flowers and feeling a little awkward, "they're beautiful. Thank you."

"My pleasure," Alaric replied.

They stayed silent for a few minutes, just enough to make the pause very awkward. Alaric wrung his hands, while Hermione fidgeted with the flowers.

"Perhaps you would like to go on a walk with me," Alaric finally spoke.

"Sure," Hermione answered a tad too quickly, "but what about my chores?"

"I found someone to cover for us," Alaric supplied, "come, we can walk upstream."

He led the way and Hermione followed.

The last time she went on a date had been to the Slug Club with Cormac just to spite Ron. She'd seen other people on dates, but she doubted snogging the daylights out of someone would count as appropriate in medieval England.

"I don't know how to do this very well," Hermione decided to say, if anything to explain her awkwardness.

Alaric's shoulders sagged and he chuckled, "Me neither."

"So, what are we supposed to do now that we're courting?" Hermione asked, feeling stupid.

"We get to know each other better," Alaric said, "talk about our lives, about our expectations, our futures."

"Oh," Hermione said, feeling like a rock had fallen in the pit of her stomach, "so, tell me about your family."

He raised an eyebrow, "What do you want to know?"

"Are your parents…?" _alive_ , she wanted to ask, but she hesitated because it would have been extremely rude.

"They died a few years ago," Alaric saved her the embarrassment, "there was a raid led by Arthur Pendragon where everyone was killed. I was fetching water by the river, so they didn't see me. Afterwards I came here, away from Camelot."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione replied, aghast.

"Me too. I should have gone back to help, but instead I hid and ran away."

"If you had gone back you would have been killed," Hermione countered, "you wouldn't have been able to win against the knights of Camelot."

"But I should have tried, like you," Alaric retorted, "when the mercenaries attacked that camp in Essetir, I thought I would die just like my parents. But then you saved us with your magic; you did what no one else wanted to do, what no one else could do. A lot of people owe you their lives, including myself."

"I only did what I had to do," Hermione replied feeling awfully self-conscious. Alaric seemed to have picked up on that because he changed the topic.

"What about your parents?"

Hermione hesitated.

"They loved me, but I had to send them away to protect them," Hermione answered, trying to be as honest as possible without giving anything away.

"That's not what you told the elder, though," Alaric prodded, wanting to know a little bit more. He was curious.

Hermione sighed and crossed her arms, "There are a lot of things about myself that I can't tell you, Alaric. Not because I don't want to, but because the consequences of the information could be disastrous."

Alaric made a puzzled face, "Are you a seer?"

"Something like that," Hermione said, letting him make his own assumptions even if they were wrong, "the point is... my parents were in danger, so I made them believe that they didn't have a daughter and sent them away. So it really is as if they were dead."

Alaric waited a moment before replying, "What you did was very brave. Not all of us could be so selfless."

"Perhaps it was selfish," Hermione countered, "I didn't want to suffer if they died."

"I don't believe that," Alaric said.

There was an awkward pause again and Hermione couldn't help but feeling that this was a mistake.

"I will protect your secret," Alaric then said, startling Hermione out of her thoughts.

"Pardon?"

"I won't tell anyone that you are a Seer. They tend to be highly coveted by kings or sorcerers in their search for power. Even if you do not marry me, I will not tell a soul."

"How long do people tend to court before deciding to get married?" Hermione asked then, the thought of marriage making her heart race and not in a good way.

"It depends on the couple, but it usually doesn't take over a year," Alaric explained, oblivious to the way Hermione's shoulder's stiffened in sheer panic, "it is generally regarded that if after a year of courtship you couldn't reach an agreement, then perhaps you should look elsewhere."

They continued walking for a while. The conversation was stilted and more often than not there were very awkward pauses that neither seemed to know how to breach. Gone was the carefree guy who told jokes at the bonfire, and he was replaced by a nervous man who was trying too hard to make the right impression.

They returned to the camp for lunch, and Hermione made a hasty excuse to sit next to Mordred.

"How was your training?" she asked him, keenly aware of Alaric's eyes on him, "Do you still need help with the meditations? I have some time before supper to help you."

Mordred raised an eyebrow at her, the cheeky boy, and Hermione could see him trying to supress a grin.

"Thank you," Mordred said and returned to his food, filling the silence recounting with too many details everything he had to do during that day's training. Hermione supposed she walked right into that one. When they finished their food and Hermione went to her apprenticeship with Agrona, she immediately caught on to Hermione's mood.

"Does your mood have something to do with Alaric?" she asked with a smile that seemed too innocent to Hermione.

"Does everybody know now?" Hermione replied, exasperated.

"Nothing ever interesting happens around here, people have to have some entertainment," Agrona joked, but Hermione wasn't in the mood to appreciate it.

"Well, I'm glad I could be of help."

The healer joked, "Ah, the perks of being young."

Hermione rolled her eyes, preparing the ingredients for the salve they were going to make today.

"Everything is alive with emotion," Agrona continued, "when you get old like me things just don't feel as they used to."

They started to work in silence on the salve, only speaking when they needed, and everything seemed to be going well, until Hermione caught her salve turning a brown, horrid color with a smell to match. Immediately, she put the whole thing in stasis and out of the fire while she retraced her steps.

"You added the crushed lavender too early, Hermione, when the salve was still too hot," the healer told her, saving Hermione the time, but also causing her to grind her teeth in frustration. Agrona took Hermione's hands and led her to the log they used as bench, "why don't you tell me what is bothering you?"

"I don't think I should have accepted Alaric's courtship," Hermione confessed, her feelings rising to the surface and exploding like a geiser.

"Why?" Agrona asked, a bit alarmed. It wasn't very common that a prospective bride second guessed herself that soon after a courtship started.

"I don't know if I want to get married yet, and Alaric said that couples are expected to marry within a year," Hermione rambled, as she tended to do when she was nervous, "I'm just getting used to living here and I don't want to add any more changes on top of that. There's also Mordred, who I worry about and I feel he should be my priority..."

"Hermione, sweetheart, calm down," Agrona said, giving her a steaming cup of tea that Agrona always had on hand. Hermione took a sip and immediately felt herself relax, "if you don't think you are ready for a courtship, you can call it off."

"But I don't want to hurt Alaric," Hemione said, "he's a good friend."

"I think it would hurt him more if you let him proceed courting you, only to reject him when he's become more involved," Argona said, "what brought this on?"

"Do you really want to hear?" Hermione asked.

"As I said, we need some form of entertainment," Agrona replied.

"But you must not go with this to no anybody," Hermione warned, "not even if I call it off. It wouldn't be fair to Alaric."

"My lips are sealed," Agrona promised, and so Hermione told the healer everything about her disastrous date. Agrona laughed a few times and reminisced about the mishaps of her own courtship period.

"But you married him in the end, did you not?" Hermione asked.

"I didn't marry him until the third time he courted me," Agrona answered, her eyes far away, "I told him I didn't want to have anything to do with him after last time, but he said he could and would make it up to me. He did, and we got married."

"I guess I'll tell him tonight, then," Hermione said with a sigh.

"Don't be so upset dear, it happens," Agrona comforted, "besides, he could decide to try again in the future and you might find yourself in a better place. Don't lose hope."

Hermione then started over with the salve and, when she was done, Agrona dismissed her. She found Mordred and they went into her tent, which was blessedly empty.

"Do you need me to put a toad in his trousers?" Mordred asked without missing a beat.

"No, nothing like that," Hermione said, "it was just painfully awkward and I didn't want to have a repeat of that before supper."

Mordred looked so disappointed that he couldn't put a toad in Alaric's trousers that Hermione laughed out loud.

"How are your meditations going for real?" Hermione asked.

"Boring," Mordred whine, "I always feel like I'm going to fall asleep."

"Well, if you want to start casting spells, you better start mastering them."

"But why?" Mordred asked, "You don't need to."

"Because I already know control," Hermione explained, "magic needs two things. Number one, intention. Number two, control. If you have the right intention but not enough control, you could either overpower the spell and hurt someone or don't power the spell enough. If you have control but not the right intention, then you might not get the results you expect."

"Like what?"

"Well, I knew someone who tried to levitate a feather. I'm not sure what he was lacking, control or intention, but his feather exploded."

"Really?" Mordred asked wide eyed.

Hermione nodded, and then she proceeded to guide Mordred through the meditations. Mordred wasn't quite there yet, but at least now he was trying harder. She was sure he would master it in no time.

At dinner time, predictably, Alaric sat down next to her and even brought her dinner. She tried to smile at him, trying to calm her beating heart. She really did enjoy his company, and he was a good man, but she just couldn't bring herself to look at him that way. Perhaps, if she had been born a druid, she wouldn't have hesitated.

"How was your day?" she asked in what she hoped was a casual tone.

"Tiring," Alaric replied, "we were out in the woods all day."

"Why?"

"We got a message saying Uther's son was attacked by the Questing Beast," Alaric explained, "we were fortifying the wards and the enchantments that keep us hidden."

"Is that necessary? We're not even in Camelot," Hermione retorted.

"Uther's hatred of magic extends far and wide. The bite of a Questing Beast is lethal, and now that he was bitten, he will die. If his wife's death brought about the Great Purge, who knows what he will do when his son dies."

At that moment, the Elder stepped forward and told everyone what Alaric had just told her. There were multiple gasps and general unrest. They were clearly afraid of the king's grief, and Hermione couldn't blame them. However, her own personal unrest could be resolved more easily and, in the confusion, she stood up and motioned for Alaric to follow her to a more private place.

"Alaric, you are a great man and I really value your friendship," Hermione said, and she saw Alaric's shoulders sag in relief. She continued, feeling encouraged by this, "however, at this moment in time I don't think I'm ready for any form of courtship, from you or anyone, and it wouldn't be fair to lead you on."

"I understand," he said, "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think we are meant for each other."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh, "I agree with you. But, if you're ever interested, Aida is looking for someone to settle down with."

Alaric raised an eyebrow, "You wouldn't mind?"

"Why would I? I think you are a wonderful man and she is a very sweet and caring woman," Hermione answered.

Alaric shrugged and they said their goodbyes, feeling considerably lighter than earlier, even if the overall mood at the camp was one of dread and fear. Hermione went to sit next to Mordred, who seemed a bit lost in the midst of the families who had huddled together to pray for any form of salvation. He latched onto her waist and buried his face in her chest, the atmosphere clearly getting to him. Aida and Adeline then came to sit next to them, clearly distraught. Aida sat very close to Hermione and Adeline brought a log to sit in front of them. She didn't say anything, but grabbed Hermione's hands, which were wrapped around Mordred, and Aida placed an arm around her mother's shoulders.

At that moment, Hermione realized that she had found herself a family in medieval Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please, you like it, leave a favorite, a follow (or both) and a review.
> 
> Have a nice day!  
> ClearEyes.


	4. In Which Hermione Becomes the High Priestess, oh boy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Note: Wow, either the fandom is dying a slow death or people don't like this story very much. I would like to thank those of you who followed me or this story or both. I would also love to hear your opinion, so don't be shy with the Reviews. For any writer, the best you can provide is feedback. If you know a friend who reads fanfiction (you know who you are ;)) please share. (We're on Youtube now, yes.)
> 
> Now that that's out of the way, and without further ado, enjoy!
> 
> Warning: I errased awful, inapropriate comments. I will do so again until I find a way to block it. Stop being disgusting.

The following couple of days reminded Hermione of the few weeks after the Tri-Wizards Tournament and Cedric's death. There was a brief period of respite when neither the Minister of Magic nor The Prophet knew quite how to react, before the slander campaign against Dumbledore and Harry, when rumors ran wild and people were waiting for the other shoe to drop. This time, however, it wasn't the threat of the Dark Lord which loomed overhead, but rather the threat of King Uther Pendragon, The Tyrant as he was known in some communities.

People walked huddled together, whispering, wondering and just desperate for information and a miracle solution. Mordred spent most of his free time next to Hermione, holding onto her hand if it was free or just standing close to her. Despite the Elder and Iseldir trying to keep an air of normalcy and routine, the children still felt the uneasy in the air and it made their learning harder. There were more instances of accidental magic now than any other time since Hermione arrived at the camp.

Surprisingly, Mordred seemed to succeed more than the other children in his meditation, and when Hermione asked him why, Mordred's answer baffled her.

"I'm going to become as good as you are, or even better, to protect you," Mordred declared, and Hermione's heart was gripped with fear. She didn't want Mordred to protect her. It was her job to protect him.

There was a bit of respite from the whole thing when Aida told Hermione that Alaric had asked her mother to court her. She said that of course Adeline had been suspicious because Alaric had just shown interest in Hermione, but that Alaric insisted they parted in friendly ways. Hermione assured Aida that it would never work out with Alaric and then went to reassure Adeline that no, they weren't courting anymore, and yes, it was Hermione who pushed Alaric to ask.

Hermione spent most of her time practicing all the healing spells she learned from Agrona since she started her apprenticeship, and Agrona was determined to teach her every other spell she knew. Even spells that didn't have anything to do with healing.

"The time is approaching when you might need them," was all Agrona said when Hermione asked.

Aside from that, Agrona had started teaching her on more complex potions to cure burns and a proto-Dittany in order to help wounds heal faster. These potions could be the difference between life and death, Agrona explained, and Hermione committed them to memory. When she could, she would sneak to the woods and attempt to use the other spells she knew from her time, especially the warding and protective spells that could keep her newfound family safe. She wasn't sure if it was the Latin, the lack of wand or the fact that magic seemed to be sentient in this era, but Hermione could not get them to work.

There was one druid tasked with transporting himself to their brethren camp in Camelot at least once a day to wait for news. The reports he brought back made the Elder pale and that frightened Hermione. She felt useless sitting around doing nothing, so in those times she would return to practicing spells and brewing potions.

Three days after the prince was bitten, Mordred was being particularly clingy.

"I'm scared," he confessed to her in a whisper, and Hermione hugged him close.

"It's going to be okay," she said, trying to be reassuring, "we'll be okay."

"I don't want you to die," he said then, and Hermione felt her heart pounding.

"I'm not going to die," Hermione replied, fiercely, trying to imbue as much determination as she could in her voice, and she felt Mordred minimally relax. He spent the rest of the day helping her with her potion making and meditating next to her.

Hermione also felt terribly puzzled by what she knew from the legends; even as her new life in the medieval era constantly proved the legends wrong, as it was her only source of knowledge, she still relied on it to some extent. This had never happened. Had she caused this event to happen when she traveled a thousand years into the future? Or maybe it did happen regardless of her intervention and the legends just latched onto the next person who was called Arthur and mashed them both together. She had no way of knowing, and that bothered her. What she wouldn't give to get her hands on a book...

That evening when their messenger returned from Camelot, he was smiling. Hermione rushed to hear the news, which had to be good or the messenger had lost his marbles, and invariably Mordred followed after her. The messenger was really talking to the Elder, but nearly everyone at the camp had gathered around them to hear.

"The prince lives!" he exclaimed, and there was a collective exhale or relief.

Hermione's legs gave out from under her and Mordred used the opportunity to pounce on her, clinging to her neck and crying. Hermione was crying too and held onto Mordred just as tightly. When they recovered, they walked around looking for Aida and Adeline, and they found them just outside their tent hugging each other and crying. When they saw Hermione and Mordred, they opened their arms and included them in their hug.

That night there was a huge, celebratory feast. The women brought out all the drums they had, and people who didn't have a drum used hollow logs or rocks to fashion themselves an instrument. People danced, clapped, sang and all their dread from the past couple of days turned into a merry time. They brought out the mead and the ale, which were reserved only for very special occasions, and instead of rabbit stew they had roasted pheasant.

As the night carried on and there was no sign of the people winding down, Hermione was enjoying her ale sitting at the log next to Agrona.

"What does this mean?" Hermione asked her, feeling her skin tingle. She chalked it up to the mead, relief and festive atmosphere.

"It means that there was a trade," Agrona answered.

"A trade?" Hermione asked, feeling a chill in her spine.

"The bite of the Questing Beast is always fatal unless someone makes a trade," Agrona said and the obvious answer fell on Hermione like a rock sinking to the bottom of a lake.

"A life for a life."

Agrona nodded.

"But I thought Uther Pendragon believes all magic is evil," Hermione argued, "he wouldn't have used it even if it killed him. Unless, of course, he is a massive hypocrite."

"I don't think it was Uther who traded Arthur's life for someone else's. He is evil, without a doubt, but he isn't knowledgeable on the arts of the Old Religion," Agrona countered.

Hermione's eyes widened as Merlin's face flashed in her mind, "Emrys."

"Precisely."

"But who's going to die instead of the prince, now?"

Agrona shrugged, "Whoever it is, they have saved a lot of lives with their sacrifice. I will pray for the safe passing of their soul."

A few moments later, Agrona said she'd better call it a night.

"Don't worry about working tomorrow," Agrona told Hermione right before she left, "you brewed enough potions to last us a couple of weeks. Sleep in, or spend some time with Mordred... or just rest."

Hermione wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth and just nodded her head. She told Mordred that it was time for bed, and the boy, being a boy, whined all the way but complied. Hermione could see he was tired, and she was as well.

As she was readying for bed, she felt another chill run down her spine and goosebumps break on her skin despite the warm evening. As she contemplated what it could be, her chest tightened almost as if she'd been punched and she was assaulted by visions. She saw Merlin's face twist in an angry grimace. She saw a beautiful dark haired woman with a menacing smile and a dangerous glint to her eyes. She saw an island shrouded in mist from which the remains of a tower protruded like arrows towards the sky.

Her chest loosened and she could breathe again, though she felt light headed. She lied down on the blankets hoping that it would pass soon and unwittingly fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning Hermione woke up with a killer headache and confused. She didn't remember falling asleep, and she was very sure she didn't drink that much ale. She remembered the previous night and the visions which assaulted her. She assumed she passed out after that.

She exited the tent only to realize that most of the camp was already awake and she had slept in. Aida grinned at her from the other side of the camp, no doubt thinking Hermione drank too much, and Hermione found she didn't care enough about what Aida thought to correct her. It was a sunny day and the birds were chirping happily in the trees, and yet Hermione couldn't help the sense of foreboding that overcame her. Something was wrong.

She tried to put it in the back of her mind to do her chores, but Agrona noticed and sat her down.

"Something's wrong, but I can't explain what it is," Hermione tried to explain when the healer asked her about her distracted behavior.

"Are you sure you aren't a seer? You seem to be very perceptive to the magic around you," Agrona asked, placing a hand on Hermione's forehead.

"I'm sure I'm not a seer, but I did have a vision last night right before I slept," Hermione told her, hoping that Agrona would have some answers.

"What kind of visions?" Agrona followed up.

"I saw Emrys, and a woman, and I think they were fighting," that last bit came out as a question, but Agrona didn't point it out, "then I saw an island covered in mist that I've never seen before."

Agrona hummed, "You seem a little warm. Why don't you go back to your tent to rest? I'll soon send Mordred with a tonic and some food."

Hermione nodded and walked away, though she would later claim that she didn't remember doing so. She laid back down on the blankets and immediately felt her mind drift. She closed her eyes, and behind her eyelids she saw a mist covered lake, a lone, rickety looking boat, and the same island from the night before. The woman from last night's vision was there again with a mocking grin in her face. In her dream, it started to rain, and she was startled awake by a clap of thunder.

A hand pushed her back down gently, but firmly.

Hermione followed it up to find Mordred looking at her with concern. "It's just me. You have a fever," he said.

"Mordred," Hermione exhaled, "I need the Elder."

"You're sick, and it's pouring outside," Mordred replied.

"Well then, tell him to come. It's important," Hermione pleaded, and Mordred must have seen something in her eyes because he left. When he came back, however, Agrona was in tow instead of the elder.

"What's wrong child?" the old woman asked, placing a wet rag on her forehead.

"I had more visions," Hermione gasped, "the island. It's calling me."

"It was just a dream, dear," Agrona said.

"The woman from before was there too. She must be the High Priestess, right? I think something is going to happen... I need to go," Hermione tried to get up, but the healer pressed her back against the blankets.

"You are delirious, child," the healer said, and fed Hermione a tonic. Within a minute Hermione was back asleep.

Agrona sighed a weary, heavy sighed. She told Mordred to keep watch over Hermione as she went to see the Elder, who was already expecting her.

"Well?" the Elder asked as Agrona sat down.

"The Isle of the Blessed is calling her," Agrona said, "it might be the call of the High Priestess."

"Which means that Nimue will die soon."

"That's the way it seems," Agrona agreed.

The Elder contemplated his options in silence for a few minutes. Agrona waited.

"I don't believe Hermione realizes how powerful she is," the Elder finally said, "and she refuses to believe that her life has been taken out of her hands."

"Destiny is not set in stone," Agrona replied, "she is just a child."

"The prophecies have changed, Agrona, and it's because of her. I believe Destiny knew what it was doing when it sent her here."

Agrona didn't say anything for a few moments.

"What's going to happen now?"

"Tomorrow, you will inform her of what her visions mean. We are in the threshold of change. The life traded for that of Arthur Pendragon hasn't been taken yet, and the imbalance is palpable in the air to those who are sensible enough to feel it," the Elder ordered, "if Hermione is to become the next High Priestess, she must be aware of what it entails."

"What if she doesn't want to become the High Priestess?"

"She'll find that she has little choice in the matter. Destine has already chosen."

* * *

The next morning, Hermione woke up confused and drowsy. Part of it was that she slept too much. Part of it was the overwhelming sense of wrong that she could feel in the air, sticking to her skin like glue and made it hard to breathe. She remembered her visions from the night before, and she could feel the pull of her magic that drew her towards that place in her dreams.

She sat up in bed, feeling as if her head was stuffed with cotton, and her movement roused someone else too. Mordred shot up, and immediately placed a hand on Hermione's forehead even if he didn't quite know what he was looking for.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, and his eyes were shinning with concern.

"My head hurts," Hermione said, "do you have any water?"

Mordred passed her a skin with water and Hermione greedily drank. It made her feel marginally better.

"Were you here all night?" Hermione asked.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you go to sleep in your own tent? I'm sure Aida could have taken care of me just fine," Hermione said.

Hurt flashed in Mordred's eyes, "I tried, but I was so worried I couldn't sleep. Aida let me stay here with you... Does that bother you?"

Hermione smiled, "Of course not. I just thought you would have been more comfortable in your own tent."

Mordred didn't say anything to that, but he did take her hand in his. Hermione squeezed back and they sat together in silence for a few minutes.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll be fine," Hermione reassured him.

"Aida took over some of your chores yesterday," Mordred then said, "she's probably going to ask you to take some of hers."

Hermione groaned, eliciting a giggle from Mordred.

"You think it's funny, don't you?" she said, and poked him a few times in his stomach, smiling when he came undone in a peel of laughter.

She got up and took care of her needs outside before shooing Mordred so that she could get dressed. She joined the camp for breakfast and everyone greeted her with a relieved smile. She felt, probably for the first time in her life, a real sense of belonging in these community of magical and non-magical people alike, where they accepted her for who she was, without conditions, without questions, and valued as her own person rather than what she could provide for them. It seemed to her that they had all been worried about her, and now that she felt better, she could see the relief in their faces.

She ate breakfast with abandon, not realizing how hungry she was until the food was in front of her. Then, she went to her apprenticeship with Agrona. It took her a while to convince Mordred that yes, she was okay, and no, she didn't need an escort. Mordred eventually left to his training and Hermione started preparing ingredients for the potion they would make today.

Agrona arrived a few minutes later and sat down on the log they used as a bench.

"Leave that, child and sit with me," Agrona said and Hermione did so, even if it surprised her, "how do you feel today? Be honest."

Hermione sighed. "I feel stuffy, like my head is too light or something. What I felt yesterday hasn't left either, that sense of wrongness. I don't want Mordred to worry, but I feel weird."

Agrona's eyes softened, "I spoke to the Elder about your visions. We agree that change is coming, and it is coming soon. The balance hasn't been restored yet, so that's why you feel that something's wrong."

"You mean the life traded for Prince Arthur's?"

"Yes."

"But why do I seem to be the only one to feel this?" Hermione asked.

"Because it seems the Old Religion has chosen you to become the next High Priestess."

Hermione, for once, didn't know what to say.

"What?" she squeaked.

"Usually, the High Priestess, or Priest, chooses the person who will become her successor. It is rare, but it does happen that Magic takes matters into its own hands and chooses who will be the next successor of the High Priestess. Yesterday you mentioned more than once that the Isle of the Blessed was calling you, and both the Elder and I believe that is what it means."

"But I'm not even supposed to be here," Hermione said.

"It seems that Destiny knew what it was doing when it sent you here," Agrona said, repeating the Elder's words from the night before, "nothing in this life is happenstance."

Hermione didn't quite know what to say to that. She was going to become the High Priestess? Why her? She wasn't religious. And what did it mean for her? Who was she praying to? She had never considered the question of a higher being controlling the world. What was she supposed to do now?

"What would it mean for me?" Hermione asked.

The healer shrugged, "I don't know. Every High Priestess I remember has been different. Some never married, but some did and had big magical families."

Hermione's eyes widened, "The sacred twenty-eight"

Agrona raised an eyebrow at her.

"Never mind. You were saying?"

"Most High Priests and Priestesses have generally looked after the preservation of magic. However, to some of them the ends justified the means and they used dark, dark rituals for the Samhain or Beltam ceremonies, or the Summer Equinox and Winter Solstice. It will depend on you how you commemorate our important festivities and what traditions you decide to honor."

Agrona then stood up and continued preparing the ingredients where Hermione left them off. She sensed that Hermione wanted some quiet to process this new information and she was right. Hermione let her hands go through the familiar motions as if in a trance while she tried to comprehend what this would mean for her.

What bothered her the most was that this was not her time. She was surprised that both the Elder and Agrona seemed to believe that it didn't matter because destiny had somehow chosen her, but the truth was that if she hadn't had the Time Turner on her, she would have probably died in the future and destiny be dammed. Then there was the Mordred issue. Wasn't it too much to ask already that she raise a boy to turn away from evil only to ask her to become the High Priestess? She was curious about who decided she would be good for this job, because she certainly didn't think so.

Her thoughts kept going in circles around the same vein and Hermione determined to keep herself busy the rest of the day by doing making more potions, practicing her spells and helping with the laundry. At supper she paid extra attention to what Mordred told her so as not to think, and at the end of the day she was so exhausted that she didn't even think about the issue before she fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning Hermione woke up to find she could barely breathe. Her skin was tingling with ambient magic, and she broke out in shivers and goosebumps. Her head was assaulted by vision of the Isle of the Blessed, the High Priestess and Merlin. There were new visions this time as well, of a woman covered in boils and shaking, clearly dying. The court physician of Camelot, Gaius her mind recalled, on the floor and seemingly dead. Hermione knew that magic's imbalance was reaching its peak, and that it would have dire consequences. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she was certain of that knowledge.

She staggered out of her tent and Mordred was the first to notice her. He rushed towards her and caught her when she stumbled, and his cry alerted a few people who crowded around her. She was barely aware of someone standing in front of her and yelling at them, before helping her walk towards a tent.

"What do you see, child?" a voice asked, and she couldn't for the life of her name the owner even though she recognized the voice.

"Magic... balance... Gaius... Merlin," Hermione said, as if unable to find her mouth and unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Mordred, go get Agrona," the voice then said and the name of the boy triggered another wave of visions. The Lady Morgana gasping for air. Merlin on top of her. Mordred as an adult kneeling in front of a deranged looking Lady Morgana. Her heart thumped.

"No... Mordred... Morgana," Hermione babbled, unsure who she was talking to.

Then, from the deepest part of her chest, her magical core, she felt a pull so strong she fell to the floor. She was uncertain of everything except that she needed to go to the Isle of the Blessed, and she needed to go now. She apparently spoke out loud because a voice asked her, "Go where, dear?"

Hermione couldn't answer as the pull became so strong, that the only thing she could do was apparate there.

She arrived with a pop that startled the two people doing battle against each other. One of them was Merlin, who tensed and stretched his hand towards her. His other hand was stretched towards a woman who Hermione instinctively knew to be the current High Priestess. She seemed puzzled.

"Who are you?" she asked.

Hermione herself was watching the events unfold from above, as if she was a bird flying above them. She saw herself answer, "Magic has chosen a new High Priestess. Nimue, you are no longer suitable to carry out that sacred role. You have been found guilty of altering the balance between life and death."

The High Priestess, Nimue, seemed to skeptical at first but then she caught Hermione's eyes glowing golden. And it wasn't just the irises which were glowing golden as when a sorcerer used magic, but the whole eye in a picture that would give Merlin nightmares for years to come. Then, her eyes widened and she paled.

"Everything I did, I did for the sake of magic," Numue said but her voice shook. Nimue then made two balls of fire appear in her hands. One she sent towards Merlin and the other towards Hermione. Because at the moment Hermione was possessed by a higher power, the ball of fire simmered before it reached her and disappeared. Merlin, too distracted to dodge, caught the ball of fire in the chest.

Nimue, thinking Merlin was out for the count, turned to Hermione ready to attack her with something more powerful. Merlin wasn't done yet, though, and he rose slowly. He stretched his hand out before him and let his magic out in the open. Black rain clouds that hadn't been there before gathered at his command and, looking towards the sky and back at Nimue, he called lightning to smite the High Priestess where she stood. The skies opened and it poured.

Nimue didn't even see it coming. She convulsed once, twice, three times, before she collapsed on the floor. She was dead before she hit the ground.

Hermione watched from her invisible perch how her body moved towards the dais, where a cup stood on top of an altar. She was then pulled back down into her body and she swayed, trying to reorient herself and get her bearings back. Merlin turned his outstretched hand towards her.

"Don't move," he warned.

"Or what?" she challenged, trying to look more put together than she felt. Her head was still spinning.

"Or I'll smite you where you stand," Merlin said.

Hermione couldn't help herself; she snorted. "You just saw magic itself possess my body. I don't think it will let you kill me."

Merlin's brow furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"Are you blind?" Hermione asked, already at the edge of her patient, "Or were you born stupid? Or perhaps Nimue hit you too hard on the head..."

"Then how do you explain that you arrived out of nowhere just as Nimue and I were about to fight," Merlin challenged.

"If you have an qualms about timing, take them up with magic," Hermione simply said, brushing him off, "I have been having visions for the last two days about this island. The Elder seems to think that magic chose me to be the next High Priestess and, while I had my doubts before, I don't think I have a choice now."

That said, Hermione walked up the dais and held the ancient looking chalice with both hands. It was engraved with symbols and words in a runic language she couldn't recognize, but it didn't even seem to be old English. She noticed that the rain water had filled the cup to the brim, and wondered what she had to do next.

Magic seemed to know, though, and Hermione felt it guiding her hands up above her head. Her irises flashed gold, and the words were pried out of her mouth.

"I, Hermione Jean Granger, henceforth accept the task of being the High Priestess of the Old Religion and the representative of Magic on Earth. I vow to safeguard magical creatures and to protect people with the gift of Magic and I will walk the path Destiny has set out for me forever more," she declared and drank all the contents of the chalice in one go.

Magic sang in her veins like it never had before. She gasped as her magical core expanded to make room for all the Magic pouring through her, and her vision swam. She fell to her knees in front of dais as she waited for the black spots in front of her eyes to disappear. When they cleared, she realized that Merlin was hovering right in the middle point between where she was and where he'd been standing. Their eyes locked.

"Are you okay?" Merlin finally asked.

"I'm okay... it was just... a lot," Hermione answered, and she noticed then someone's foot on the other side of the altar. She gasped, crawling around, too tired to even try to stand up.

"Don't touch him!" Merlin then yelled, his voice choked up. It was clear to her that the physician meant a lot to Merlin, so she turned to him. Again, she made sure to look him in the eye.

"I'll heal him," she said.

"He's dead," he replied.

"Let me check for a pulse then," Hermione countered, "if he's still alive, I can heal him."

Merlin wanted to refuse, but then he remembered the impressive feat of magic back in Ealdor when she put that woman's arm back together. Reluctantly, he nodded.

Hermione scooted closer to Gaius, and checked his neck for a pulse. She was relieved to find one, even if it was weak. She placed her hands on his chest and closed her eyes to feel for her magic. She focused on her intent, which was to heal Gaius. A flash of gold and the spell was flowing out of her mouth: _Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare mid þam sundorcræftas þære ealdaþ æ!_

Hermione felt the warmth but this time it was different. There was too much of it. Instead of being a warm fire, the fire threatened to burn her. She was burning. She screamed and passed out.

* * *

Hermione woke up in a cot feeling the way she imagined a rag felt after bring wrung. She could smell a fire, but it didn't feel like she was in the camp. No, it was warmer, and the sounds around her echoed as if she was indoors. That rang warning bells in her head because she was used to waking up to the fresh dewy air of the morning and the chirping birds. She opened her eyes and deduced Merlin must have brought her back to Camelot. She sat up and saw that, indeed, she was in the Court Physicians chambers. Gaius, the court physician, was moving around his workbench. Hermione cleared her throat and the man turned. He beamed at her, which caused her to be weary.

"Good morning," he chirped and Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"Good morning," she said, wondering what to make of this man's mood.

"I don't know what you did in the Isle of the Blessed, but I feel twenty years younger," Gaius then said, moving to sit in a stool next to the cot, "my rheumatoid pains are gone, I can breathe more easily and I could even climb the stairs to the king's chambers without feeling like a ran a mile."

"You're welcome, I guess," Hermione said, a bit uncertainly. Just then the door banged open and in strode Merlin covered in filth. When he saw her awake, he closed the door and approached her with a frown. As he neared and the smell reached her, Hermione almost gagged.

" _Feormian_ ," she said after thinking of the scourgify spell and Merlin was clean.

It surprised him enough that he stopped his angry stomping, "How did you do that?"

Hermione made jazz hands, not that he would know what they are, and said, "Magic."

Gaius grinned, although he tried to hide it, and Merlin rolled his eyes.

"How did you know where to find us?"

Now Hermione rolled her eyes, "I told you already. I had visions of you in that place and Magic literally transported me there. Then it put the words in my mouth and voila! I'm the High Priestess."

Merlin frowned, "What's voila?"

"Never mind," Hermione said as if it wasn't a big deal, "if we're done here, I have to go back to my camp."

"Wait," Merlin exclaimed, a bit loudly, and then he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "sorry. I just... I never thanked you for saving Gaius back there."

Hermione got whiplash, "What happened to your mistrust?"

"Oh, I still don't trust you, but you did save him and I'm not above being grateful," Merlin said. Hermione shrugged.

"It was the right thing to do."

"So what are you going to do now?" Merlin asked.

"What's it to you?" Hermione answered with a question.

Now, it was Merlin who shrugged, "The previous High Priestess tried to kill me and Arthur multiple times. I need to know if you're a threat."

"So that you can fry me like you did Nimue?" Hermione asked.

"So you did know her," Merlin countered.

"I didn't, but that's not the point, is it?"

"Are you going to attack Camelot?"

"How am I going to get it into your thick head that I'm not?"

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't trust my own shadow. So, are you?"

"No, Merlin, I will not. I don't have any plots to kill the king or the prince, for that matter. Oh, that reminds me, what do you know about the Druid prophecies?"

"Only that I'm Emrys? And that Arthur is the Once and Future King?"

"And you didn't think it was important to do a bit more research?" Hermione asked, feeling just as frustrated as when she tried to get Ron to do his own essays.

"I don't know if you've realized, but I am pretty busy," Merlin countered.

"You're busy because you are being reactive rather than proactive. I will try to bring you a book on the prophecies if I find it, but it is important you know this. Morgana is prophesied to kill King Arthur, and the prophecy concerning Mordred has changed," Hermione heard Gaius gasp and she turned on him, "whose fault do you think it is that Morgana is prophesied to turn evil?"

"That's precisely the reason why she shouldn't know," Gaius argued.

"That's just a recipe for disaster," Hermione countered, "her magic has been bottled up for, what, nineteen years? More? I had my first show of accidental magic when I was four, you do the math. Her magic is trying to keep her alive by hiding itself, but it will explode at the worst possible time at a moment of heightened emotions. You cannot suppress Magic if you're born with it, and you should have known better."

"I was trying to protect her," Gaius said.

"What you did will get her killed," Hermione exclaimed, "even worse, it might be exactly what turns her to the darkness. She is isolated, and when her Magic starts manifesting, she won't have anyone to turn to."

"But if she's prophesied to turn evil, then what can we do about it?" Merlin asked and Hermione wanted to bash her head against the wall.

"Have you ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?" Merlin's blank look held the answer, "It is when you believe something will occur, and you do everything in your power to prevent it, but it ends up causing the thing you wanted to stop. For example, imagine an evil sorcerer who heard a prophecy that a baby born next month was going to kill him. What should the evil sorcerer do?"

"Well, the logical thing to would be to kill the baby while it's a baby, isn't it?" Gaius suggested.

"Wrong. Because when he goes to kill the baby, he didn't take into account that the mother had protective spells around him, and when the evil sorcerer attempted to kill the baby the curse rebounded and killed him instead," Hermione tried to explain what happened to Harry without actually having to share it as a personal experience.

"So if the evil wizard had ignored the prophecy..." Merlin started.

"It would have become void." Hermione finished.

"But how do you know the difference between them?" Gaius asked.

"You don't," Hermione said, "the best way to avoid a prophecy is by ignoring it. If it is meant to pass it will pass regardless of what you do or don't do, and if it has the qualities to become a self-fulfilling prophecy, by ignoring it, it will be nullified."

"Okay, I get that, but why do I have to know that?" Merlin asked, looking puzzled.

"Because, Merlin, knowledge is power. The more you know, the more you can protect yourself and those around you," Hermione answered.

"It sounds as if you speak from experience," Merlin noted.

Hermione's shoulders stiffened, "I do."

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed and then Hermione said, "Well, then... in that case..."

She was interrupted by the door banging open again.

"Merlin!" the prince bellowed, took in the scene in front of him, and pointed an accusing finger at Hermione, "It's you!"

Merlin, Godric, Rowena, please end her now, Hermione thought as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

* * *

Morgana didn't mean to eavesdrop, she really didn't, but she needed to ask Gaius for another draught for her nightmares and happened to have overhead Merlin and Gaius having a conversation with a woman. She would have just left it at that and walked away if she hadn't heard her name being mentioned.

" _Whose fault do you think it is that Morgana is prophesied to turn evil?_ " the woman was saying, and Morgana realized that she recognized the voice. It belonged to Hermione, the girl from the woods who turned out to be a druid. Why was she here? More importantly, what did she say about a prophecy concerning her?

" _That's precisely the reason why she shouldn't know_ ," Gaius then said, and Morgana felt the sharp pang of betrayal pierce her chest. She'd come to Gaius before with her suspicions but he'd always turned her away with more tonics for her nightmares.

" _That's just a recipe for disaster_ ," Hermione countered, and it took Morgana a second to realize that Hermione was scolding Gaius. On her behalf.

" _Her magic has been bottled up for, what, nineteen years? More? I had my first show of accidental magic when I was four, you do the math. Her magic is trying to keep her alive by hiding itself, but it will explode at the worst possible time at a moment of heightened emotions. You cannot suppress Magic if you're born with it, and you should have known better._ "

Morgana wished to know more, but footsteps down the corridor alerted her to someone approaching and she didn't to be caught here. She rushed back to her chambers and locked herself in. She checked the servant's quarters to make sure Gwen wasn't there, and much to her relief, she wasn't. She then closed the curtains and sat down in front of her vanity.

I have magic, she thought, and she waited for that thought to sink in. She should have been afraid, a part of her recognized, and she couldn't deny that part of her was. What if Uther caught her? She was his ward, surely he wouldn't burn her, would he? She realized that she couldn't say with certainty that he wouldn't, and it made her angry.

She saw her eyes glow gold in her reflection in the mirror and a bottle of perfume, which Uther had given her, exploded. Hermione said that her magic would come out in moments of heightened emotion, and now she knew what that meant. She would need to be careful not to be too emotive in public, then.

What she really needed, though, were answers. She had to talk to Hermione; she could help her. And she was a druid, so they were peaceful and wouldn't hurt her.

As Morgana stared at her reflection in the mirror she found herself smiling. She had magic. It was a death sentence in Camelot, but at least she knew for certain that she wasn't going crazy. That was a start.

* * *

Prince Arthur was confused, but he would never say that out loud. He could not even admit it to himself. Ever since he met Hermione, the laws by which he thought the world operated had been turned on their heads and Arthur didn't want to admit that he, or his father, could have been wrong. Just the possibility that the Great Purge had been a mass murder condoned by the royal family was enough to make Arthur feel sick, so he just didn't think about it.

Now, however, as he stood facing the very woman who made him question everything he thought he knew, all of his confusion came back and threatened to overwhelm him. Therefore, he got angry.

Gaius approached him with placating hands, "Sire, allow me to explain…"

Arthur yelled, "What is there to explain? She is a sorceress, and she…"

"She saved your life," Merlin then said, and Arthur could only stare slack jawed at his manservant. Gaius continued.

"The Questing Beast's is a magical injury that can only be healed through magical means. You can understand why I kept it a secret from your father, sire."

No, no, no... if that was true, then Hermione's count of times magic saved his life would go up to three and his vision of the world would be further upended. So of course, the most logical question he could think to ask was, "But what does _she_ have to do with anything?"

"I'm the High Priestess of the Old Religion," Hermione answered and Arthur turned to glare at her, "I provided Merlin with the means to save you. I just came to see if it had worked, and it looks like it did."

Arthur felt his anger rise and he glared at Gaius, "What you did amounts to treason, Gaius."

"Let me explain something to you, _your_ _highness_ ," Hermione interjected and took a step towards Arthur. Arthur would deny to the day he died that he backed away from a girl, even if she was a sorceress.

Hermione continued, unfazed, "An injury made by Magic can only be cured by Magic."

The woman then proceeded to lift her sleeve, showing Arthur, Gaius and Merlin, the bandage in her arm. She proceeded to peel it off slowly and showed them a recent-looking wound that was just closing. Arthur heard Gaius gasped and turned a puzzled look on him.

"I see you recognize this," Hermione said, directed at Gaius, before turning her attention back to the him, "I received this wound with a cursed blade six months ago, your highness. Magical healing only exacerbates the wound, so non-magical healing methods are the only way in which this will heal. And you see that it still isn't healed, even after half a year."

Arthur couldn't help but feel a bit vindicated, and he let it show, "Aha! Magic is evil, I knew it!"

"Did you pay attention to anything I just said?" Hermione asked, her eyes tight, "Magic is something you're born with, like the color of your eyes. It's not something you can one day decide to say, 'oh, well, it's been fun. I'll stop now', because that's not how it works."

Arthur felt himself deflate a bit as what Hermione said gradually sank in.

"That's not true," Arthur said, but even to his ears it sounded weak.

"Oh, so now the muggle is going to teach me how magic works? I'm a witch. I first used Magic when I was four years old to reach a toy. Are you going to burn four year old children at the stake, _your highness_?"

Arthur felt light headed, almost as if he had turned around too many times and couldn't tell which side was up. What she said had to be a lie, that was the only explanation. Sorcerers were evil, magic was evil, and she was trying to weaken him by making him question a very basic set of rules.

But if that were true, why hadn't she attacked him yet?

He bearly heard her when Hermione spoke again.

"If that's all, I'll take my leave then. It was good to see you're alive and well, _your highness_ ," Hermione said, turned on her heel, and just like that, she was gone.

Arthur was brought out of his confusion by the way she made his title, a title he was proud of, sound mocking and condescending. What did she know anyway? She was a sorceress, and they couldn't be trusted. He would just put this conversation and every other encounter they'd had up until this moment out of his mind. Of course, that's when Merlin started to talk.

"What just happened?" Merlin asked, turning around as if Hermione would suddenly appear behind him.

"She's gone," Arthur ground out through clenched teeth, "again."

Gaius replied, "Well, of course sire, you were not expecting a sorceress to remain in Camelot, were you?"

Arthur wasn't sure what made his anger boil over; the fact that Hermione was a sorceress, that she'd been in Camelot and she wasn't in the dungeons, or the flippant tone with which Gaius just said so. As if there were no consequences. As if the law was nothing but a cleaning rag to be discarded. He turned to Gaius, his fists shaking with rage.

"You should be hanged for this! Conniving with a sorceress... of all the things... "

Gaius just straightened his back, jutted out his chin, and said, "Just two days ago I went to the Isle of the Blessed willing to die to save your life, Arthur. If you must go to the king because that's your duty, I will walk to my execution with my head held high because I did mine."

That only served to aggravate Arthur further. Since when did Gaius become so defiant? He was his father's most trusted adviser, for goodness sake! Arthur trusted him! How could Gaius not see what the problem was?

"It's magic!" Arthur bellowed, feeling as if the world had gone crazy. Nothing made sense anymore.

"It saved your life, Arthur," Merlin said, his eyes wide and fearful, and Arthur turned to stare at him.

"What would you know about it? You're a peasant. You didn't even grow up in this kingdom," Arthur said, pointing an angry finger at Merlin. Merlin flushed and his eyes hardened. His mouth opened to say something but Gaius was faster.

"Sire, think about this through logic," Gaius said, "can you do that?"

Arthur could, but he didn't want to. Clearly, it was a rhetoric question though, because Gaius just carried on talking.

"People born with magic do exist. Are they born evil?"

Arthur closed his eyes, fighting an incoming headache, "People can't be born with magic, Gaius, don't be ridiculous."

"Where did you learn that information?" Merlin asked.

"My father hired the best tutors for me, _Mer_ lin," Arthur replied.

"Yes, Arthur, but you must remember that it was your father who started the Great Purge."

"What are you trying to say, Gaius?" Arthur asked, furrowing his brow.

"Everything he taught you is tinted by his past decisions. He could never teach you that sorcery is anything other than evil if he was also going to teach about the Great Purge."

"The Great Purge saved this country," Arthur argued.

"From who?" Gaius pressed, "If you go to the archives, you'll see that we had more crops, cleaner water, and the weather was less unpredictable before the Great Purge."

"You're talking treason, Gaius," Arthur said, avoiding the topic, "are you bewitched?"

"I can assure you, sire, that I am in control of my own mind," Gaius said.

"My father would never lie to me on this," Arthur said, intending to sound convincing but it came out more like a plead, "he wouldn't."

Gaius pursed his lips and stayed silent, seeing that Prince Arthur was overwhelmed. Merlin, too, for once, didn't say anything. Arthur almost wanted him to say something, if only to break the tension that could be cut with a knife.

Deciding he couldn't bear to be in their presence any longer, Arthur stormed out.

Merlin looked after him in dismay.

"Give him time," Gaius said, "we just told him everything he believes in is a lie. We also made strong accusations against the king."

A chill ran down Merlin's spine, "Do you think he'll have us killed?"

"Arthur isn't Uther. He wouldn't go to the king without proof we've done magic. Be careful not to give him any," Gaius warned.

Merlin scoffed, "He wouldn't see it if I made myself fly in his room. Did you hear what he said to me?"

"He doesn't know what you can do, my boy," Gaius patted Merlin on the back.

"Will I ever be able to tell him?" Merlin asked then.

"Perhaps, but not too soon I, I fear," Gaius answered, "now I need you to run some errands for me."

Merlin rolled his eyes and went to help Gaius.

* * *

Hermione apparated in the Druid camp with a pop and that had people turning their heads to look at the disturbance. When they realized that it was her, there was an uproar.

"She's back!" people yelled, and as Hermione walked further into the camp, everyone came to greet her. They looked relieved, for the most part, but also curious. Aida rushed towards and hugged her tight, and Hermione was surprised to see she had tears in her eyes.

"We were so worried," she explained, trying to wipe them away, "where were you?"

"It's a very long story," Hermione answered, trying to convey with her eyes that it was a conversation to have in private.

Just then, a human arrow parted the crowd and ran towards her, wrapping his arms around her middle and holding onto her like life itself depended on it. Mordred sobbed into her stomach, and Hermione felt guilt pierce her heart.

She leaned forward to bring her mouth close to his ear.

"I'm okay, Mordred," she whispered, "I'm here. I'm sorry I worried you."

Mordred only sobbed harder, inconsolable. He refused to let go of her and she had to take them both to her tent, where they lied down next to each other.

"I thought you were never going to come back," he said through his tears.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like that," Hermione replied.

"I was so scared. And then you didn't come back for two days," Mordred continued.

"That long?"

"You didn't know?"

"I lost track of time, I guess," Hermione tried to excuse herself, but Mordred narrowed her eyes at her and she gave in, "I was unconscious for a good part of those two days, which is why I didn't come in sooner."

Mordred's eyes filled with concern, and of course, more tears, "What happened? Where did you go?"

"I went to the Isle of the Blessed," Hermione explained, "Mer-Emrys defeated the High Priestess and magic wanted me to take her place."

"Magic?" his eyes were wide.

"Yes. It showed me where it was and what was happening. That's why I had to go so abruptly," Hermione held Mordred tight, "it called me."

"But why were you unconscious?"

"I guess I overexerted my magic a bit," Hermione said.

"And you stayed all this time, unconscious, on the Isle of the Blessed?" Mordred asked, clearly upset.

"No, Emrys took me to Camelot. He took care of me," Hermione answered.

"But what if the king had caught you? You could have died!" Mordred exclaimed and Hermione saw for the first time anger simmering in those blue eyes.

"But I didn't," Hermione replied.

"But what if they hadn't waited for you to wake up? You would have died and we wouldn't have known," Mordred said, prying himself from her and standing up to pace, "you can't just rush into danger like that. So many things could have gone wrong. What would happen to me if you died?"

Hermione sat up and really looked at Mordred for the first time since she arrived. His hair was mused at impossible angles and and he had deep, dark bags under his eyes. He was glaring at her, but beneath the anger, she could see the deep seated fear that one day Hermione wouldn't come back and that he would be all alone. Suddenly, Hermione understood why Mrs. Weasly wasn't a field agent for the Order.

"I promise I will be more careful in the future," Hermione said, but Mordred only glared harder.

"Well, you clearly can't look after yourself, so you leave me no choice. I will protect you. I won't let you out of my sight," Mordred declared.

Hermione thought it was a promise made in the heat of the moment which would soon be forgotten as soon as Mordred calmed down. However, for Modred it equated to a vow. He would become Hermione's champion, and he would protect her from everyone who wanted to harm her. He would even protect her from herself. But he needed to finish his training so that he could fulfill this promise. Mordred vowed to never again sit idle while the people he loved die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place at the end of season 1. It is uncertain how much time passes between Season 1 and 2, but I will assume that at least three months have passed. I will also explore the aftermath of the Questing Beast's bite. As I've read a lot on Arthurian lore lately, don't be surprised if I start adding part of the original myths to this story, like Lacelot's background for example.
> 
> Until we meet again,
> 
> Medieval Scribe


	5. In Which Arthur Begins to Question His World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur Begins to Question His World, and everything he knew about it; Hermione learns a bit about child rearing, and Morgana gets in serious trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We're back to school! For those who don't know, I'm a teacher, and with the pandemic going on it's been a crazy couple of weeks. I was also a bit stuck on who this chapter should focus on, and one conversation between Mordred and Hermione just didn't seem authentic enough. As a teacher, I'm around kids a lot, and I don't like it when an eleven year old kid speaks like an adult in books, movies or fanfiction. So I was trying to be as authentic as possible and it just wasn't working. I'm still unsure if it's super authentic, but I tried my best and I don't want to rewrite it for the fourth time.
> 
> Now, without further ado, enjoy!

Arthur was in a foul mood for the next four days, which meant he was putting Merlin through the grinder. It didn't help that it seemed Merlin was supporting Gaius's point of view rather than Arthur's, which made the prince feel even more cross with his manservant. Arthur's mind was yelling at him that sorcery sympathizers were just one step away of practicing magic themselves, and therefore they had to be punished. His mind also told him that if he didn't go to his father with this new information, he would be betraying his father.

On the other hand, his instincts wouldn't let him go to Uther knowing that his father could be unreasonable when it came to magic, like that time he locked Arthur in the dungeons for trying to save Merlin or threw Morgana in the dungeons because she talked back. Arthur knew in his gut that Uther's fury would descend upon Gaius and Merlin, and whatever friendship they'd had in the past be dammed.

He was in a particular foul mood this day, as he hadn't been sleeping well. His mind kept replaying every single encounter with the sorceress Hermione and how, despite using magic, she had never harmed him. Then it replayed the conversation with Gaius, with Merlin as a witness. What did it mean, for him, if Gaius spoke the truth? What did it say about his father? What did it say about him, that he never thought to question the information his tutors drilled into his head?

When he finished pummeling Merlin during training, he ordered him to prepare him a bath in his chambers. As he was soaking, getting rid of the sweat and grime, a page boy came with a message from his father. The king wanted to dine with Arthur. The last thing Arthur wanted to do was sit in front on his father and lie to his face, but it would be suspicious not to agree. Like he was hiding something. He was, but that's not the point, is it?

So, he got dressed, dismissed Merlin, and walked the known path to his father's ante-chambers where dinner was already served. His father inquired about training, paperwork, the knights, and a whole lot of other logistics before turning to smile at Arthur. It was so rare to see his father smile, that Arthur couldn't help but feel awkward at such a sight. Give him an angry Uther any time.

"How are you feeling, Arthur?" his father asked him.

Arthur put on a smile, "Never better. It feels good to go back to training with the knights after being so long in bed."

"Well, you were gravely injured," Uther said, "you nearly died."

A shiver ran down Arthur's spine, "I didn't."

"It was too close a call," Uther replied, "perhaps you should refrain from joining the knights' patrols, and keep to your administrative duties and training."

"That would be disgraceful, father," Arthur argued, "how can I train my knights to be loyal, brave and courageous if they see me cower in the castle instead of joining them in battle?"

"I never said you wouldn't join them in battle, Arthur, but a patrol and scuffles with creatures and bandits is hardly a battle worth your time."

"My men died out there fighting that beast," Arthur said, a bit more forceful than intended.

"And you almost died right there with them," Uther said, using his king voice which brokered no arguments. Arthur, well conditioned by his father, ducked his head and bit his tongue.

Arthur lost his appetite, but They continued dinning in a tense silence. The question was itching at the back of his brain and he knew that if he didn't ask it now, he never would. So, bracing himself for a scolding and a lecture, he cleared his throat. When his father raised his eyes at him, Arthur asked.

"How did I survive?"

Uther, apparently expecting an argument, seemed taken aback by the question, "What do you mean?"

"The Questing Beast's bite is lethal, Gaius said, yet here I am," Arthur answered.

Uther scoffed, "Well, he found a cure, didn't he?"

"But aren't magical injuries only able to be healed by magic?" Arthur pressed. Uther stopped eating and stared at the table in contemplative silence which meant he was either start yelling or kick Arthur out of his ante-chambers.

Finally, Uther said, "I'm sure it was just an old-wives-tales to scare children into behaving. Gaius is known for being superstitious."

His tone suggested that the discussion had ended and so Arthur finished his meal in silence, even when he didn't believe his father's explanation. He was just relieved that his questions hadn't started a bigger argument.

He went to sleep a bit later with thoughts of Hermione, Gaius and magic running through his head, and therefore was unable to get the rest he so desperately needed. In the morning, he threw a goblet full of water at Merlin when he came to wake him up. Arthur didn't feel like he slept at all. A tiny voice in the back of his head told him that it wasn't Merlin's fault, but as usual, he ignored it. He got dressed by himself, which he was very capable of doing despite Merlin believing to the contrary, and went to seek out Gaius's help. Perhaps he could give him one of those draughts he gave Morgana to help her sleep.

As he was on the way there he noticed that his father was walking ahead of him and Arthur quickly ducked behind a pillar. He suspected that the king was walking towards Gaius's chambers as well, and for a moment Arthur was afraid that he doomed Gaius to execution. His suspicions were confirmed when Uther opened the door to Gaius's room and closed the door behind him.

Feeling guilty about putting Gaius in danger and feeling the need to rectify it, he silently approached the door and attempted to eavesdrop. Based on what he heard, he would decide his next course of action.

"Gaius," Uther said.

"Sire, is there anything you need?" Gaius asked, not sounding particularly concerned. Arthur wondered how long Gaius had been keeping his opinions a secret from the king.

"I wanted to thank you, once again, for saving my son," Uther said, and Arthur felt a bit warm inside. It wasn't often that Arthur heard the king refer to him like that, and it made Arthur feel like an eleven-year-old again, seeking his father's approval. Perhaps he still did.

"It was my duty," Gaius replied, and Arthur remembered that Gaius used the same word when he spoke to Arthur about magic.

"If you used any... less than legal methods," Uther continued, and Arthur was taken aback by how detatched his father's voice sounded. Usually, the topic of magic made him scream in rage, "I will overlook them. Just this once."

Arthur felt as if an invisible rug was pulled out from under him. All his life, Uther had decried the evil of magic, burning people for less than what Gaius had practically admitted to doing with his silence alone. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Had his father lied to him?

"Because it's Arthur, sire?" Gaius finally asked.

"Because he is my son," Uther answered, "of course, nothing we discussed will leave this room."

"Of course not, sire."

Arthur decided to leave then, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping and also needing time to process what had just happened. The first thing his brain locked on to was that his father lied to his face last night when he talked about old-wives-tales. How many more lies had Arthur been told? Second, Uther permitted the use of magic, albeit retroactively, because of Arthur. But, when Mary Collins used magic to avenge _her_ own son's death, Uther was going to execute her. So, which one was it? Was it evil or was it not? Why did Uther allow Arthur to be saved but another man to be condemned by the same thing?

Arthur's headache increased, and when he returned to his chambers to find an irritable Merlin muttering about prats and training, he felt like the very fabric of existence had been shaken out of place.

* * *

At the druid camp, Hermione and Mordred hadn't spoken to each other since her return four days ago. At first, it seemed like Mordred had just gotten a little spirited by his brave declarations to protect Hermione from herself as he stormed out of the tent, but the next morning he didn't even glance in Hermione's direction. The change in mood gave Hermione whiplash, and she didn't know what to do. She didn't have any experience with young children, and all the adults in her own childhood had proven to be inept, cruel, negligent or all three. So, she decided to give Mordred time to cool down, however, as the time passed and the silence stretched, Mordred only seemed to be getting angrier.

He sulked in the corners of the camp, avoiding her at all costs, and he even got into a big fight with Kara and the other kids. So, now he was mostly seen at Iseldir's side. Hermione recruited Aida to help, but Mordred seemed to sense what it was about and he started avoiding her too. Hermione was at loss and tried to feel productive by brewing potions and pastes for Agrona.

On the fourth day since their dispute, Agrona sat Hermione down and she knew Agrona was going to lecture her.

"What is going on, child?" Agrona asked, her eyes tight.

"How should I know?" Hermione replied, feeling suddenly defensive, "he won't talk to me."

"And why do you think that is?"

"Maybe because he's a brat?" Hermione replied, crossing her arms and catching from the corner of her eye a black-haired blur that disappeared behind the tree line.

"Hermione!" Agrona scolded, "That's is no way to speak about a grieving child."

Hermione felt shocked, "Grieving?"

"He thought you were hurt, or worse," Agrona replied, "try to put yourself in his shoes for a second. How do you think he felt?"

Hermione's stomach plummeted with guilt. She hadn't considered his feelings on this matter at all. After all, he was just a kid, and she needed to be the adult and protect him. He was just throwing a tantrum, being childish... he didn't know what real troubles were like, and Hermione wanted to keep it that way.

Except that he did know, didn't he? He grew up without a mother and his father had been executed in front of his eyes. He had to hide in Camelot knowing that Uther Pendragon wanted to kill him. And when she met him, she didn't want to believe that this kid could have been shaped by those horrors and she wanted to still see him as an innocent, pure child.

"What have I done?" Hermione gasped, looking helplessly at Agrona.

"It doesn't matter what you did as long as you know how to fix it," Agrona replied.

"But I don't know how to fix it," Hermione said, "what if I can't fix this?"

"Mordred is a good kid above all, and you must believe in that. You must apologize, of course, and trust that he will forgive you. He is hurt. He is not behaving like this just to spite you," Agrona told her with a disappointed look in her eyes.

Hermione rushed to where he saw Mordred go without even thanking Agrona, feeling a new kind of urgency blossoming in her chest. She found him by the river, curled up in a ball and shaking. Even from afar, Hermione could hear his heart wrenching sobs.

She sat down in front of him, and knew that he knew because his shoulder's stiffened. He kept his head buried in his knees.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, not knowing what else to say, but Mordred just shook his head. Hermione's eyes filled with tears too, and her voice choked up, "I really am. I didn't think about you when I disappeared like that, and I shouldn't have brushed you off like that. I also didn't mean what I said earlier."

Mordred didn't raise his head, or made any move that acknowledged he heard her.

"What can I do to make it up to you?" Hermione asked.

There was silence for a moment, and then Mordred replied in her head. That wasn't a good sign.

_You hate me_ , Mordred said, and what broke Hermione's heart weren't the words, but the resigned tone Mordred used. He didn't even sound angry or resentful. Just like talking about the weather.

"I could never hate you," Hermione said, "I'm so sorry that I made you feel like that."

_You stopped talking to me,_ Mordred said in her head again, and this time she could hear a hitch, _and then you called me a brat._

"I was wrong. I thought you needed space to feel better. I never meant to make you feel I was ignoring you."

He didn't answer for a long time. _Why did you leave?_

Hermione sighed. If she told him that she didn't have a choice he wouldn't believe her, nor if she told him she was possessed by magic. Still, she decided that her best bet was honesty.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, "magic was pulling me there. I... it was crushing me. That's why I left like I did."

_You looked like a ghost,_ Mordred said, still in her mind, but he raised his head enough to look at Hermione, _I thought you were dying._

"I felt like I was dying, too," Hermione confessed, "I think I kind of did."

Mordred gasped and his wide eyes filled with tears as well. Hermione rushed to place her hands on Mordred's shoulders.

"I'm okay, though. I didn't really die, but... I don't know how to explain it," Hermione struggled to find words, something that rarely happened, "I was watching myself move from above, and my eyes were glowing very bright, almost like magic was controlling me and I was just watching."

_That sounds scary,_ Mordred said.

"It didn't feel scary," Hermione replied, "it didn't feel like anything. It was like being numb."

Mordred's thin frame started shaking and Hermione realized that she wasn't helping the situation any.

"My point is, Mordred," Hermione said, "I didn't leave because I wanted to. And I didn't ignore you because I wanted to hurt you, and I certainly don't hate you... I love you."

Mordred then covered his ears, shut his eyes and shook his head.

"Don't lie!" he yelled, this time using his voice.

"I'm not lying," Hermione cried, "I could never lie to you."

"You lied before," Mordred accused her, his eyes suddenly blazing, "you said you'd never leave me."

"I didn't..."

"You did! And you almost died!" Mordred yelled again, and this time his eyes glowed golden. The wind picked up around them, lifting leaves and rocks into the air. At one point, the wind lifted a branch and it whacked Hermione in the head. As soon as it did, the wind died down even when the branch, rocks and leaves were still floating in mid-air.

"I... I didn't mean to..." Mordred stammered, clearly scared that his magic had reacted so violently.

"It's not your fault," Hermione tried to placate by taking his hands in hers, "magic goes crazy when your emotions go crazy. It's okay."

"I hurt you," Mordred replied with wide eyes, "I... my magic..."

"Sometimes, people hurt each other without meaning to," Hermione said, boring her eyes into his, "it's part of life. We can forgive each other and try not to repeat our mistakes."

"But what if you leave again?" he asked in a weak voice, "What's going to happen to me then?"

"I won't leave you again, not without letting you know beforehand," Hermione said, "you won't ever be alone. I won't allow it."

"You can't promise that," Mordred said, a few more tears escaping his eyes.

Hermione didn't answer, but instead brought Mordred closer to her in a hug. In the awkward position they were in, Mordred couldn't return the hug, but she felt him relax. Her chest felt warm and she felt something in her soul mend as she felt Mordred adjust his position so that he could return the hug. She vowed to herself to protect this trust he was giving her, even after she hurt him so.

They remained like that for a few moments, just basking in each others presence. Hermione, being an only child, never experienced having a child younger than her look up to and depend on her. Harry came to her mind, but their dynamic had been, once upon a time, totally different. There, Harry was her equal, both in age and abilities. Here, Mordred was younger and was just learning how to access his magic, and he depended on her to feel safe, wanted and loved.

She had never been responsible for another person's life like this.

It terrified her. It was a mixture between being a mother and a sister, being unconditionally there for someone who would be irreparably damaged if something happened to her. At the same time, she loved and gave and prayed for his happiness because she also would be irreparably damaged if someone were to snatch Mordred out of her hands. Her arms tightened around him, hoping to let him know all of this in this one hug.

The silence was broke by Mordred.

"Teach me magic."

"Why do you want _me_ to teach you?" Hermione asked.

"You know how to use it to fight, to protect," Mordred said, breaking the hug and looking at her with determined eyes, "I will become a knight one day, and I'll be your champion. But before that I must know how to use my magic like you do."

"You don't need to protect me, Mordred," Hermione said, trying to discourage the idea.

"I want to," Mordred replied.

Hermione saw in his eyes the same glint he saw in Harry's. She knew, like she knew one Harry Potter, that if she declined, Mordred would just go find someone else. Perhaps it would lead him to Morgana. Hermione shook her head from that horrible thought.

"I will teach you, on one condition," Hermione told him.

He immediately looked skeptical, "What is it?"

"Until you are at least fifteen, you won't leave this camp without permission," Hermione said.

Mordred crossed his arms over his chest, "It's not fair. Why do you get to go?"

"As the High Priestess, I have duties."

"I can help," Mordred replied, "besides, if I'm going to learn how to fight with magic, I shouldn't do it in front of the druids."

"You do have a point there," Hermione conceded, "fine. Occasionally I will take you with me to the Isle of the Blessed so that you can practice, but you still can't leave the camp without me to escort you."

"Fine."

"Fine."

They stared at each other quietly for a moment, until Hermione said, "Can you forgive me?"

Mordred look down to the ground and pulled a blade of grass out of the earth. He seemed reluctant, and knowing that she put the hesitation there made Hermione want to crawl into a whole out of guilt. Finally, he looked up at her and nodded. His eyes were still a bit fearful, and Hermione knew that she'd have to work hard to show him she meant it.

Hermione stood up and they both started walking back towards the camp. On the way there, Mordred grabbed her hand and Hermione squeezed his. And then, in a barely audible whisper, Mordred said:

"I love you too."

And Hermione's heart swelled.

* * *

The whole camp seemed to exhale in relief when Mordred and Hermione returned holding hands. The atmosphere of animosity didn't sit well with most of them, but for the few who knew about the prophecies, they had been anxious that this would push Mordred right into Morgana's side. The Elder summoned Hermione to his tent, even though she now outranked him.

The Elder stood up when she saw her walk in with a puzzled expression.

"I assume congratulations are in order," he said.

"Please, don't stand up for me. You're still the Elder," Hermione told him, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

"But you are the High Priestess. The only one higher in status than you, is Emrys himself. Even so, I did want to talk to you about an important issue," the Elder replied. Hermione was left speechless, so she just sat down and the Elder sat down after her.

"You mean Mordred," Hermione read between the lines.

"Precisely," the Elder agreed, "the entire destiny of Camelot and Albion depends on your ability to keep Mordred in the light..."

Hermione barely contained the roll of her eyes; the Elder sounded like Dumbledore. As much as she'd worshiped the old headmaster while she was a student, she had been less than impressed with his cryptic messages and unhelpful clues to find and destroy the Horrorcruxes. Wouldn't it have been better to give the task to a competent adult instead of seventh year Hogwarts students?

"I'm not taking care of Mordred because of a _prophecy_ ," the way she emphasized the word showed how much contempt she felt for the whole thing, "I'm taking care of him because he needs someone to be there for him. Because he needs me and I need him just as much. He's my family."

The Elder looked at her sternly, "Regardless of your personal opinion, you should be aware that a lot of hopes are resting on you, and by extension, him."

"If I started thinking about the ramifications of every decision I make, I would go crazy and no good would come from it," Hermione replied, "the truth is that relationships and the emotions that come with them are complex. I am eighteen years old. I'm not a mother, or a sister, or even a mentor. I'm learning as I go, and Mordred is too."

"Even when you speak the truth, you cannot afford to fail," the Elder said.

"I'll keep it in mind, but I won't base my decisions exclusively on a prophecy."

"You will do as you see fit, and I can only hope you know what you are doing," the Elder said, looking sad, "he was deeply affected by your sudden departure. Agrona had to give him a very strong sleeping draught because he couldn't calm down."

"I know, and I apologized to him."

"Regaining trust that was lost is not so easy."

"I understand, and I will do whatever I need to do to earn it back."

"Being the High Priestess might become a challenge in that regard, as your duties will probably call you away constantly," the Elder said.

"I told Mordred that I would teach him magic and occasionally take him with me to the Isle of the Blessed, but I'm not willing to put him in unnecessary danger," Hermione argued.

"That sounds fair, but in that case, you should not put yourself in unnecessary danger either."

"Sometimes I have to take risks."

"And what do you think he's going to feel if something were to happen to you? If not for your sake, then for his. Avoid taking unnecessary risks."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that. She thought of Molly Weasley and why she was never a field agent for the Order, even though she was quite heavily involved. She then thought of Arthur Weasley when he was attacked by Nagini, and how shaken Ron had been. Ginny and the twins hadn't been much better. She was beginning to understand that, perhaps, Molly Weasley didn't want their children to lose both parents the same way Harry and Neville lost theirs.

"I will be more careful from now on," Hermione promised, not only to the Elder, but also to herself. She could not afford to be reckless when Mordred depended so much on her.

"That's all I wanted to hear," the Elder said, seemingly satisfied with her answer, "what are your plans from now?"

"I would like to return to the Isle of the Blessed. I'm hoping it will have something to guide me into this High Priestess business, considering the last one is dead," Hermione answered.

"When are you going to leave?"

"I would like to leave today, tomorrow at the latest."

"You should take Mordred with you," the Elder told her with a firm look.

"It safest for him to stay here," Hermione argued.

"Not for him. He feels the safest when you are around, and that is what he needs at the moment," the Elder countered.

"But..."

"As far as I know, the Isle has been abandoned for years, has it not?"

Hermione was taken a bit aback by the question, "I think so."

"In that case there will be no danger for you or him if you travel the same way you did before."

Hermione sighed, knowing he was right, "Fine. I'll go tell Mordred to prepare a rucksack with clean clothes and we'll be on our way."

"It will do the both of you good to have a change of scenery," the Elder told her looking far too pleased, "you have my blessing."

* * *

Morgana was looking intently into her reflection, trying to will her eyes to glow golden and make something burst with no success. The more time passed the more frustrated she got. If she managed to control when her magic manifested, then perhaps that would reduce the accidental outbursts she'd experienced in the past. However, nothing was happening.

She was interrupted from her musings when Gwen arrived carrying the clean linens.

"Morgana? Are you alright?" Gwen, sweet Gwen, ignorant Gwen, asked her.

Morgana thought she saw a tiny glimpse of a glimmer but it disappeared quickly.

"Do you think I'm getting a pimple here, Gwen?" Morgana asked, seemingly nonchalantly, "my skin has been oily lately."

Morgana saw Gwen roll her eyes through her mirror, "You're just as flawless as always, my lady."

"What have I told you about titles in private?"

"That they're not necessary," Gwen said, repeating the phrase for the millionth time.

"Then why did you use it?"

"To make a point," Gwen replied, "you are beautiful, your skin is flawless and you are the perfect embodiment of a lady. Surely you know that."

Morgana let out a laugh that she hope didn't sound as fake to Gwen's ears as to her own, "You always know what to say to make me feel better."

Morgana knew her training time, if it could even be called that, had come to an end. Perhaps she could find the Druid camp where Hermione was and get her to teach her. She could leave 'on a walk' later that day and return before nightfall.

* * *

Hermione apparated with Mordred to the Isle of the Blessed. Both had their own rucksacks with clean clothes and food. Mordred looked a bit green and he soon after emptied the contents of his stomach on the cobblestones.

"I'm sorry, the first time is always the worst," Hermione said.

She gave Mordred a potion to settle his stomach which he took gratefully. He looked around at the dilapidated ruins where they found themselves in and a shiver ran down his spine. He moved closer to Hermione and gripped her hand tightly.

"This place is creepy," Mordred whispered.

"Why are we whispering?" Hermione asked, also in a whisper.

"To keep the ghosts away."

"There aren't ghosts here," Hermione replied.

"There are always ghosts around ruins, especially where they died violently," Mordred said, repeating what his father had told him once.

Hermione wanted to dismiss it, but then she remembered the Bloody Baron and Nearly Headless Nick. It made sense that ghosts would arise from a violent death. Instead, she asked another question.

"How do you know people died violently here?"

Mordred pointed to the bottom of the ruined walls, where the huge stones gathered in a pile of rubble. At the bottom, there were scorch marks. The more Hermione looked around, the more she found evidence that a battle took place in the Isle. She wondered what happened in this place.

"This place needs a bit of an improvement, don't you think?"

"You can't touch anything!" Mordred exclaimed, "you could disturb the spirits and they would hunt you forever."

Hermione thought about it. She was still skeptical, but a lot of things had happened since she arrived in Camelot, so why tempt fate?

"Perhaps we can build them a shrine? That way they can rest undisturbed and we can try to make this place look a bit more habitable."

Mordred smiled a bit, "My father once helped the Elder of our previous camp build a shrine after a raid led by Prince Arthur. I know how."

The next hour was spent building a shrine using the big fallen rocks who littered the ground here and there. They placed a few pieces of charred wood which nearly turned to ashes in their hands and spread them over the rocks. Then, Mordred found an old rope, but he said it would work, and he set to work making an intricate chain of knots which he set around the rocks and the charred wood. Then, he told Hermione to bless it.

"How do I do that?"

"When my father built the other shrine, the Elder sprinkled water with aromatic herbs and sent a prayer for the souls of the dead."

Hermione was not, and had never been, a religious person. She didn't want to disrespect the people they were trying to honor, yet she understood that as the High Priestess it probably fell under her purview. She took some herbs from her rucksack, mostly used for healing rather than anything else, and emptied some water from the water skin into the bronze pot where they would prepare their supper and heated it up. She sprinkled the herbs, effectively making tea, and with a glow of her eyes she cooled down the water.

She wet the tips of her fingers and sprinkled the aromatic water over the shrine.

"I pray your souls will find in death the rest and peace they were denied in life," she said, and her eyes glowed. With that, the shrine had been made and sanctified. Hermione poured the rest of the water around the shrine and returned the bronze pot to the rucksack.

"How about we look around now? I'm sure the ghosts won't mind now if we improve this place," Hermione suggested and Mordred, reluctantly, took her hand and off they went.

The ruins took up most of the island, and Hermione could see a rough outline on how they would have looked in life. She touched a wall with her hand and thought of _Reparo_ , and out of her mouth came, " _Weallstilling._ "

From the ground up, the stones elongated and shifted until the wall was around two meters tall. Hermione looked at her work, satisfied, and moved to the rest of the walls around that room. Soon, they were standing in a big hall completely made of stone. Hermione realized that she didn't know how to make a window, but it would have to do for now. She looked up and wondered what they could do about the ceiling.

"Perhaps we could drape fabric over the opening," Mordred suggested, causing Hermione to chuckle.

"We don't have enough fabric."

"We can make it with magic."

"Magic doesn't work like that," Hermione explained, "you can never make something appear out of think air. You can take an object and turn it into something else and that is called Transfiguration, but we don't have enough of anything to make a cloth that wide and long."

They decided to move to the next room.

The ruins there were narrow, with gaps between them, which told Hermione that this might have been a hallway at some point. She decided not to rebuild it in order to keep her strength, but she did go into the rooms. Most were barren of anything that could tell them who lived there before, but one seemed to be fairly habitable. Hermione wondered if this was where Nimue slept.

There was a broken vanity, with upturned drawers on the floor and different objects littering the place. The walls were standing, but barely, and Nimue had placed a rotting piece of wood on top of the bed to presumably protect herself from the weather. There was more rotting wood in the form of a shapeless pile that once could have been a closet.

"Well, at least we found firewood," Mordred finally said, and Hermione laughed.

With the fading light, they decided to call it an early night and make the camp. They set up a large tent for both of them and rolled out their beds. Then, they lit a fire using the firewood around them and over the fire they placed that morning's stew to warm it up. Hermione placed small loaf of bread close to fire as well because it tasted better warm.

"Can you teach me something now?" Mordred asked, breaking the companionable silence they were enjoying.

"How are your meditations going?" Hermione asked him in return.

Mordred frowned, "Not very good."

"Do you know what you're supposed to be looking for?"

"Iseldir said that I have to find the center of my magic, but I don't know what it means," Mordred answered.

"Close your eyes," Hermione said, and Mordred did so, "remember this afternoon. When your accidental magic made the wind pick up."

Mordred grimaced, but he didn't say anything so Hermione assumed he was doing as she asked.

"Do you remember what you felt then?"

"Hot," Mordred replied.

"Where?"

"Here," Mordred said, and pointed to his chest.

"Now, remember that feeling in the center of your chest and follow it. It should feel warm. Not too hot, but not cold either."

Mordred remained quiet for a few long moments while Hermione busied herself with preparing supper. She thought about what she told the Elder. Mordred was her family now. She wasn't a stranger to having a family composed of friends. Sometimes she felt that her parents couldn't be there for her as Harry, Ron or Ginny would. Sometimes she yearned for a mother who could understand magic and its challenges so that she had someone to turn to for help. As much as she admired Mrs. Weasley, she never wanted to intrude on her life. She had seven children to look after, after all.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard Mordred yelp. She turned to him and saw that his eyes were open wide and glowing golden.

"Open your palm like this," Hermione demonstrated and Mordred copied. She thought of Lumos, and her mouth said, " _Beorht._ "

Mordred repeated the word, and on top of his open palm a bright orb of light appeared. Mordred squealed in delight. His eyes stopped glowing, and the light flickered.

"Focus on keeping the light on," Hermione told him, "make sure your intent is clear in your mind."

Mordred's eyes sharpened and he turned them to the orb in his hands. Not only did it stop flickering, but it grew a bit in size.

"Great job, Mordred," Hermione praised, "we're going to make it disappear now. The intent in your mind has to change: now you want it to go away."

It took a few moments, but Mordred's eyes eventually glowed golden away and the light gradually became smaller until it was gone.

"That was amazing!" Mordred said with a wide grin, followed by a big yawn.

"What did it feel like?"

"Warm, like you said," Mordred answered, "like coming home."

Hermione smiled, feeling warmth blossom in her chest as well, "Eat up, you must be hungry."

Mordred's reply was lost as he shoveled food into his mouth. Hermione was reminded of Ron, and her heart ached for her lost friends.

"Eat slowly, and chew with your mouth closed," Hermione told him, just like she'd told Ron countless times, but Mordred actually listened. She smiled fondly and ruffled his hair. He answered with a smile.

When they finished their food, they prepared themselves for bed and fell asleep next to each other, holding hands.

* * *

Meanwhile, while Mordred and Hermione were bonding at the Isle of the Blessed, Morgana was traipsing through the woods, thoroughly lost. Her plan was to go, find the Druids, and be back at Camelot before nightfall. She had left Camelot when the sun was still high in the sky, and now the moon had replaced it and she was nowhere near the Druids nor Camelot.

She heard a wolf howl at the moon, and she yelped in fear. In the darkness, she tripped over a branch and fell, feeling her foot throb. Her eyes pooled with tears, and she immediately hated herself for being so weak.

_Arthur wouldn't sit here and cry_ , she told herself, _Arthur would find a way out of this. He always does._

* * *

In Camelot, when Morgana wasn't back in her chambers for supper, Gwen got worried and she went to Merlin. Merlin, in turn, went to find Arthur. Both Gwen and Merlin told Arthur that Morgana wasn't in her chambers and, at first, Arthur dismissed them. He was worried about other, more important things, and Morgana was probably annoying someone at the moment. What _did_ Morgana do with her time? But then he told himself that if she was in real danger and he didn't do anything to help her, he couldn't forgive himself. At least, if she was safe and sound, he could always tease her endlessly.

So, Arthur told Merlin and Gwen to look for Morgana in the places she usually frequented while he went to Morgana's chambers. Nothing seemed to be out of place. Her vanity was just the same. The only missing thing was her traveling cloak. Did she go somewhere?

When Gwen and Merlin returned from their mission without results, he asked the maidservant.

"She didn't have anywhere to be," Gwen answered, "she just said she wanted some fresh air."

"Is it possible she got lost?" Merlin suggested.

"She's been playing in those woods since we were kids, how could she have gotten lost?" Arthur asked.

"Maybe she got injured?" Gwen asked next.

"If that's the case, we must tell Father immediately and send out a search party," Arthur said, and as he walked towards Uther's chambers with Merlin and Gwen in tow, they heard a distant howl.

* * *

Morgana finally made it to a stream where she took off her shoes, which were not meant for such long walks in such unfriendly terrain, and soaked her feet. They were throbbing from the small cuts that littered all over them, and she was sure she hurt her ankle earlier with her fall because she could barely step on it. Her cloak had torn somewhere along the way and Morgana was sure she was going to die, alone in the forest, that night.

She wept silently as she nursed her aching feet. She was a lady of the court, and nobody had thought to train her on survival in the woods. Aside from few herbs she knew Gaius used for healing, she didn't know what was edible and what was poisonous. She was hungry, tired and hurt, and she wanted nothing more than to be back in her chambers with Gwen nearby. She regretted the moment she thought this would be a good idea.

"My, my, has little red riding hood lost her way?" a male voice said behind her, and Morgana turned in alarm. Where did he come from?

His appearance shocked her, for he looked more beast than man, with sharper teeth than she had ever seen on a person an thick hair that seemed to cover most of this man's skin. He smelled rancid, like stale urine and sweat. Morgana wanted to gag from the smell. The man grinned, reveling in her fear.

"Such a pretty lady, too," he whispered, kneeling to touch her cheek, "you would be a nice addition to the pack."

Morgana was trembling in fear, paralyzed, and when she spoke her voice trembled, "I am the ward of King Uther Pendragon of Camelot. You don't want to harm me."

The man chuckled, dark and menacing, "And what is a muggle king going to do against someone like me?"

The man yanked her to her feet as if she was nothing but a rag-doll. Morgana screamed.

* * *

As was expected, Uther raised the alarm as soon as he heard Morgana was missing. Immediately, Arthur was dispatched with a search party to go look in the woods. Arthur gathered Sir Leon, Sir Kay, Sir Bedivere to go with him, while the rest of the knights to scout the forest in the opposite direction. Merlin went with Arthur for reasons Arthur couldn't understand; the guy could barely lift a sword, and they didn't have any time to lose, what did he think he was going to do? Gwen, on the other hand, made the sensible decision to stay in Morgana's chambers in case she managed to return by herself.

Arthur, in the lead, gave everyone torches and ordered them to light them. He briefed them on what little he knew, and what they had to be looking for. They had no reason to suspect someone had taken Morgana, but if they saw signs of struggle they had to sound the alarm as well. They had to keep their eyes out for an injured Morgana who may or may not be conscious and therefore unable to answer their calls.

They left as the moon was high. It wasn't yet a full moon so they didn't have as much light as they would have liked. They searched for hours without any indication that Morgana had ever been there except for broken branches which could have been made by a random animal when a flash of red caught Merlin's eye.

"Arthur," Merlin called.

"Not now, Merlin," Arthur snapped, not even looking up from where he was examining what could or could not have been a foot print.

"But..."

"Save it. I don't have time for your idiotic..."

"Just look!" Merlin finally snapped, angry at being dismissed so easily. While it was helpful to his cover while protecting Arthur from magical threats, now it was really inconvenient. His tone must have alerted Arthur that it was serious, though, because he looked at where Merlin was pointing and his eyes widened.

"Is that...?" he asked as he took it from the low bush and brought it closer to the torches, "Knights!"

The knights rushed towards the prince and waited while he examined the cloth. After a moment he raised it up and addressed the knights.

"This seems to be part of Morgana's cloak," he announced, "Sir Kay, return to Camelot and bring a hound. We might be able to find her faster if it follows her scent. The rest of you, I want you to spread out from this point towards the North, East and West. Go!"

The knights nodded and set out on their new task while Arthur decided to follow the trail behind the bush, as it seemed the most logical decision a person in Morgana's position would have taken. He made sure to only grasp the cloth with two fingers while holding it away from his body. He didn't want anything to prevent the hound from scenting it.

It took about an hour for Sir Kay to return with the hound. Arthur placed the torn piece of cloth in front of his nose, and the hound reacted by immediately running ahead of them. With a sharp whistle, Arthur motioned his men to follow with him in the lead. The hound led them to a small stream and then stopped. They saw Morgana's slippers on the bank, torn and bloodied, and Arthur started to fear the worst. By now, the sky was already clearing up.

The hound ran in circles around his tale a couple of times before sitting down next to the slippers. This was the end of the trail, and Morgana was nowhere to be found.

* * *

As the first rays of sunlight seeped through their tent, Hermione woke up and stretched. Mordred was sound asleep and it seemed he wouldn't wake just yet, so she stood up to do her necessities and wash her face and hands. She then set out the bread and cheese, along with some berries for breakfast. Around the time she was finished, Mordred came out of the tent looking like a bird had nested in his hair. Hermione laughed.

"It's too early," Mordred mumbled, going to the water basin she left out for him and away to take care of his needs.

When he returned, he asked, "What's so funny?"

"Your hair," Hermione answered, moving to try and flatten it out a bit. Much like Harry's, it defied gravity and didn't want to be put down.

They ate their breakfast and broke camp.

"I'm going to explore the ruins for a bit," Hermione told Mordred, "I want to see if there is any information left in this place that I could use."

Mordred snorted, "Good luck with that."

"Behave," Hermione warned, "you can only roam around the places we saw yesterday. Be careful and don't touch anything."

Mordred grinned cheekily and ran off, while Hermione hoped she hadn't made a huge mistake. She then returned to the room with the dais where she'd become the High Priestess. She exhaled in relief when she saw the Cup of Life was still where she'd left it, and bagged it. She looked around, seeing the tall pillars in a circle around her, and decided that it probably was a hall of ceremonies of sorts. She placed her hand on the wall, and said, " _Weallstilling."_

Her eyes glowed golden and the walls around them started rebuilding and reshaping themselves until she was surrounded by a circular structure not unlike Gryffindor tower. They still had no roof, and no way to make one, but Hermione didn't terribly mind. It's not like she was going to live there. What caught her eye wasn't on the nonexistent ceiling, however, but on the floor. Now that the weeds had withered and the pebbles had been cleared away, she saw a ledge protruding from the floor a few feet away from her.

She walked towards it and noticed for the first time the trap door that had been concealed by the grime and destruction. She pulled at it, but nothing happened. She thought of _Alohomora_ and decided to give it a try. She placed her hand on top of the ledge, and said, " _Allinan_."

There was a loud click.

Hermione pulled open the ledge and descended the stairs slowly, making a light in her hand. She exhaled in relief a bit... at least she hadn't found Devil's Snare down there... yet.

As she reached the bottom, she willed the light to grow and her eyes widened. In front of her she found floor to ceiling bookshelves filled to the brim with dusty old tomes that any historian would kill to possess. Hermione wept tears of joy and walked to the closest bookshelf, grabbing the first tome she saw, returning it to the shelf after smelling it.

There was nothing like the smell of old books.

She did this a couple more times with other books and bagged two or three she thought would be relevant to her as she learned how to become a High Priestess, when a glowing basin in the back of the room caught her eye.

Could it be?

Yes, it was: a pensive.

* * *

Meanwhile, upstairs, Mordred quickly grew bored from exploring empty rooms full of rocks. Now that they made the shrine, the place wasn't scary at all, but it was dead boring. He threw some pebbles to the water from the high place where he stood but that also quickly lost its fun. He returned to the room where they spent the night, as it was the one with most things to explore, and he set about gathering the drawers and seeing if there were any treasures he could find.

There were some dresses in a pile at the bottom of what once had to have been a closet, and Mordred wrinkled his nose. There was a quill on the vanity, and a lot of broken glass. The drawers had probably been looted because they were totally empty, and there was nothing on the floor to suggest it used to be in one.

Only one drawer remained in the vanity. Mordred tried to open it, but it wouldn't bulge. He pulled and pulled, but it wouldn't move. So, he went to bring a sharp piece of wood.

At least he found a way to entertain himself.

* * *

Hermione finished watching the one memory in the pensive feeling so shaken, she had to sit down. Outside. Where the sun could touch her face and warm her up because she felt like she had just met a dementor. She practically ran up the stairs and fell on her knees, fighting the urge to vomit.

"Hermione," Mordred chose to come in at that moment, and of course, grew alarmed and ran towards her, "Hermione!"

"I... I'm okay," she tried to reassure him, but she was pale and shaking.

"What happened?" Mordred asked, turning his head around trying to find the source of danger.

"Nothing, just... it was just a memory," Hermione told him, trying to take even, deep breaths.

"A memory?"

"I found the cellar, where the High Priestess before Nimue hid all their books and artifacts. She was a seer and she saw... she saw..."

"What?"

"She saw the Great Purge... before it happened..."

Mordred was left speechless. How do you _see_ something so horrible and don't stop it?

"What did you see?"

"I saw them, the priestesses, moving all the books down there when she was overtaken by a vision. I... I don't believe in prophecies. I believe people make their own destiny. But now... being a seer is more a curse than a blessing," Hermione muttered.

Mordred fished out the water skin from his rucksack and gave it to her, and Hermione drank greedily.

"Thank you," she said, feeling a bit better.

"Why... how...?" Mordred tried to ask, but he was so confused he didn't even know what to ask.

"A magical artifact called a pensive allows you to store memories. Sometimes people want to relieve them again, while others it could be used a evidence of something. In this case... I think the High Priestess saw her own death and wanted to preserve something to guide the next High Priestess to take her place," Hermione explained.

"Did you see...?"

"No," Hermione shook her head, "I was spared that vision, but it is the only explanation that make sense. Why else would she leave a memory of the attack on this place, if not to preserve it for people who would be here after?"

"I don't know," Mordred said, suddenly feeling as if the place was the scariest place he'd ever been too.

"I'm okay," Hermione said, breaking Mordred from his reverie, "did you need something?"

Mordred's eyes lit up, and Hermione felt relief that she distracted him, "I need you to open something."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but did stand up and follow Mordred to the room where they stayed the night before. Mordred made a bee line for the vanity, but Hermione surveyed the room. There were an assortment of tools, including their bronze pot, various pieces of wood and a rock, strewn on the floor around the vanity. When her eyes turned to Mordred, he was pulling with all his might on a seemingly innocuous drawer that wouldn't have caught her attention at all if it wasn't because clearly it was magically locked.

"Why do you want me to open this?" Hermione asked.

"Don't you think that if someone went through the trouble of using magic to close this, there must be something good hiding here?" Mordred asked in return.

"What are you expecting to find?" Hermione asked, although her interest had piked.

"Gold? Jewels? A dagger?" Mordred said with excitement, "anything is possible!"

Hermione released a small sigh. The chances of finding such a treasure were slim to none, but getting Mordred to believe that would be harder than showing him there was probably nothing in there. At least, not anymore. She doubted whatever Nimue sealed in there was still there.

Hermione walked towards it, touched it, and said, " _Allinan."_

Mordred fell on his back, drawer and all, as a flutter of parchment fell around him.

"No treasure," Hermione said, fishing one of the pieces of parchment from the air.

Mordred grumbled and complained, but Hermione wasn't listening anymore. She was reading. It was a letter, addressed to Nimue. Hermione skimmed through it to get to the signature. She gasped, cutting off Mordred's rambling.

The signature at the bottom read: _Yigraine._

"I need to go to Camelot," she said.

Mordred yelled, "No! You promised!"

"I will only be for a few moments, no more," Hermione told him.

"Then take me with you," Mordred pleaded.

"I don't want you to be in danger."

"Then why are you going?" Mordred asked, his eyes flaming.

"Because I have to give something to Prince Arthur," she said, knowing that Mordred would only trust her if she told him the truth.

Mordred frowned, "Are you mad?"

"Maybe, but he has to know," Hermione said, knowing that she'd done more reckless things that sane people would never do.

"What is so important that he has to know?"

"Something his mother did, that involves him," Hermione said, not wanting to divulge too much. It was, after all, a private affair.

"Why do you care?" Mordred asked, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Because if I found letter from your mother, I would also give them to you," Hermione told him, holding his hands, "the loss of a parent always hurts, even if you never knew them. I had friend who was an orphan, and he would have given anything to have something from her mother. Anything."

Mordred was quiet for a long time, until he finally whispered, "I would too."

She smiled, relieved that she got through to him.

"I'm still coming with you," Mordred demanded. Hermione sighed. She wanted to say no, but she was tired. She didn't want to fight with Mordred. If he was with her, she'd protect him, she decided.

"Fine, but I'll change how you look. I don't want anyone recognizing you and alerting the king."

* * *

Arthur returned to the palace as dawn broke to give the disappointing news to his father. He knew that his father would send another search party while Arthur and his party recovered for a bit. He was irritable, confused, and worried sick for Morgana. He tried not to imagine her alone, trembling, hurt and in fear, but the image always managed to manifest behind his eyelids.

Once again, he walked to Gaius's rooms to ask for a sleeping draught so he could get that image out of his head for a few hours, and was surprised to hear a shrill voice coming from the inside.

"He deserves to know!" Hermione was saying, and Arthur tensed, instinctively knowing she was talking about him.

"If he knows, it could plunge the kingdom into civil war," an equally flustered Gaius answered her, and this surprised Arthur. You don't flinch when the king confronts you about illegally using magic but you do when a sorceress confronts you with... what?

"If it does, then it's Uther's fault. He deserves to know the truth from his mother's perspective," Hermione argued.

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. Not only had she called her father by name, but she also mentioned his mother. On impulse he burst into the room.

"Sire!" Gaius exclaimed, and for the first time in his life, Arthur saw the old physician sporting a blush worth of a swooning maiden.

"Your highness," Hermione addressed him, bowing, for the first time since he knew her not in mockery or disrespect, "I found something that concerns you."

"Sire, she's a sorceress..."

"You will not speak to me about sorcery, Gaius," Arthur commanded, "not after what I now know. Now, what is it that I deserve to know?"

Arthur turned to Hermione, and she took a step forward.

"These are letters from your mother to the High Priestess Nimue. They discuss something that concerns you, and I think you should know," Hermione said, handing him a wad of parchment.

Arthur rubbed his face, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be a prince and shouldn't be showing signs of weakness in front of his subjects. Except, she wasn't a subject, was she? But she wasn't an enemy, either.

"Now is not a good time," Arthur told her, "the Lady Morgana went missing last night, and we've been looking for her."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Hermione offered.

There was a small whimper, and for the first time Arthur saw the young figure huddled close to Hermione's frame. She placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, and he seemed to relax.

"You mean...?" Arthur started to ask, struggling to focus on the conversation at hand. Heavens, he was so tired.

"With magic," Hermione continued, unflinching, holding his gaze, "I could track her for you."

"It's illegal to use magic in Camelot," Arthur parroted his father's words.

"But wouldn't it save you time and effort?"

"Maybe, but it could cost you your life if you're caught," Arthur replied immediately. Wait, was he actually contemplating agreeing to this... madness?

Hermione's eyes sparkled, "I didn't know you cared."

"I don't."

"Yet, you haven't called for the guards to arrest me," Hermione said.

Arthur thought about it silence for a moment. He didn't know why he hadn't, but he knew he wouldn't.

"You haven't done anything to hurt me or my father. In fact, you saved my life. I... I..." Arthur was having a hard time expressing his feelings into words. It just wasn't something he did.

Her eyes softened.

"I understand, your highness. Keep these letters in a safe place," she handed him the letters and cast a glance at a stoic looking Gaius, "some people here think you shouldn't know about this. In my opinion, that's one more reason you should know."

Arthur took them from her and folded them carefully into his trousers, "I'll keep that in mind."

"If you need to contact me somehow, send a letter with an owl. It will know how to reach me if you tell it to find me," Hermione told Arthur, and with a pop, she and the child were gone.

Arthur stayed rooted to the spot, wondering if the whole conversation hadn't been an exhaustion induced hallucination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that it wasn't too confusing. Someone from chapter one is back, and it's not that I missed him, rather than he just burst into this chapter and took it over. There are a lot of plot lines that are coming together in this chapter and the next, so I understand if it's a little bit confusing. Merlin will get his spotlight soon, as well. Feel free to ask me any questions, I'll try my best to answer all of them at a reasonable time.
> 
> Thank you so much to all those who subscribed and followed this story, and a big hug to those who left a kind review. Reading them motivates me to keep writing at more or less regular intervals.
> 
> Have a great day, and stay safe!
> 
> MedievalScribe


	6. In Which Hermione Confronts Greyback and Saves Morgana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Hermione confronts Greyback, saves Morgana, and has a Panic Attack, not necessarily in that order. Also, Prince Arthur lies to protect the Druids and Merlin comes to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: physical violence, sexual assault, attempted rape. Greyback is a sleazy pile of human garbage, and this chapter heavily features him in all his sleaziness and disgusting behavior.
> 
> Author Note: I also want to add that the character is a villain who will eventually be defeated. I don't want to give the impression that I condone such behavior, because I honestly find it despicable. I have more or less a plan on how he will be defeated, but I am also open to suggestions on how Greyback deserves to be punished, so if you have any ideas you can share them in the comments.

As the evening fell around them, Arthur started to feel the physical, mental and emotional exhaustion on his body, on his mind and on his mood. The conversation with Hermione (an owl, really?), Gaius's insistence that Arthur should not know something, and his father's selective bias against magic echoed in his head, sending ripples of doubts on all his memories and experiences. Did that tutor who said all sorcerers were devil worshipers say that because the king told him to, or because he believed it was such? Did he ever bring proof of the devil worship of these people? And that time that he fell off his horse as a child, did the look Gaius exchange with his father signify concern for a possible injury or was there a deeper, secret meaning? Arthur was confused, so very confused.

Uther didn't seem to notice or he didn't care. He grew increasingly more impatient and irritable as the sun set and the moon rose, while Morgana was still missing. The king sent Arthur out on another search party with Sir Leon, Sir Bedivere and Sir Kay because the search party he sent during the day didn't find anything. Arthur doubted that they would find Morgana, because if the trail was lukewarm the night before, by now it was long gone. Never mind the animals that trampled all over the forest and erased any traces of her presence in the woods. It worried him. Yet, at least he was doing something, as much as an exercise in futility as it seemed to be. He couldn't just give up Morgana for dead. Even if he never told her, not that she ever told him either, he loved her. She was the closest thing he had to a sibling, and his worry for her ate at him.

So Arthur led the search party once again out into the woods. As Arthur looked at what was visible of the sky through the foliage, he noticed that the moon wasn't quite full yet, so its light was still dimmer than he would have liked. They lit up their torches and they moved forward in the darkness.

“Hang in there, Morgana,” Arthur murmured to himself, willing the lady to stay alive until he could find her.

* * *

Morgana's head pounded and her body ached, particularly her arms and her legs because they were tied so tight. She was sure her hand didn't have any circulation at that point, and her feet weren't much better. After lugging her around like a sack of potatoes, her kidnapper dumped her in a cave where other women and children huddled together against the far wall, all tied up like her and trembling in fright. She felt horrified.

The man then leaned close to her and sniffed her, sighing in pleasure. Morgana felt utterly disgusted. Then, the man licked his lips and proceeded to swipe his eyes up and down, stopping a considerable time on her cleavage.

He then said with a predatory smirk, “You smell so good. I bet you'll taste even better.”

Morgana recoiled, but there was little place to move and the rock of the wall pressed uncomfortably against her side. Tears sprung to her eyes unbidden, and without her permission slid down her cheeks. She didn't want to admit it even to herself, but she was afraid. By now she knew that Arthur must be looking for her, but the chances that he would find her were very slim. In fact, in all likelihood, this cave would be the last place she would ever see.

The man, if he could be called that, then sauntered out of the cave. As soon as he left, the women around her wailed and the children cried for their parents. Morgana swallowed her tears, and turned towards the women.

“How long have you been here?” Morgana asked them.

A woman with dirt all over her and twigs in her hair said, “It's hard to tell, but I think it's been two weeks... I was the first one.”

Morgana nodded towards the children, “Are they yours?”

The women shook their heads.

“What does he want with us?” Morgana asked.

The women whimpered, and now a dark skinned woman who reminded Morgana of Gwen answered, “We don't know... he keeps talking about the full moon, so maybe he's a sorcerer?”

Some children cried louder, while some women shrieked. The woman who spoke first replied, “Is he going to kill us?”

“But then why has he waited this long?” another woman, plum, short, stiff, asked.

“I heard that sorcerers do rituals with the blood of virgins,” the dark skinned woman answered.

“Well, I have three children at home, but I'm still here,” the plump woman replied.

“I just had a baby,” another one sobbed.

One by one, the women started sharing the stories of their husbands and their children, who were left alone at home and probably worried about their whereabouts. Only Morgana didn't say anything because she was unmarried. Maybe that's the reason that man took her. The thought made her tremble in fear.

Their conversation hushed when the man returned with a deer carcass. He dropped it in the center of the cave and dragged the women and children to sit in a circle around it. Morgana looked around; a few women seemed confused, but most of them eyed it with disgust and resignation. Morgana shivered. The man pulled out a knife, and her heart lodged in her throat. Was he going to kill her now?

Much to her confusion, the man started slashing at the carcass. The man skinned it and sliced the raw meat into thin stripes which he then fed the women. To the few who refused, the man forcibly opened their mouths and made them eat it. He untied two women and ordered them to feed the raw meat to the children, who naturally protested the whole way despite the women's soft spoken reassurances.

When the man finally reached her with a bloody piece of meat in his hand, Morgana clamped her mouth shut. She was certain that if she opened her mouth, she would throw up. As it was, she may never eat meat again after this night.

“You better get used to raw meat. Soon, that will be the only thing you'll eat,” he said with a sneer, and forced Morgana's mouth open.

Morgana spit it right back out.

For a second the women only stared at her with wide eyes before they averted their gazes. The man himself seemed surprised, but anger soon replaced his shock and he backhanded her so hard she flew back against the wall and hit the back of her head. Morgana saw stars.

The man then forced her mouth open again and covered her mouth so Morgana had no choice but to chew and swallow, or she would choke to death. As soon as it was down, Morgana gagged and nearly threw up. Maybe she should have choked to death.

“That's a good bitch,” the man said.

Tears of shame and anger slid down Morgana's cheeks. How dare this man treat her like this? Who did he think he was? If she ever got out of this, she would demand Uther to get this man's head on a pike. She would request torture of the highest desgree before his execution. She would watch as they heated rusted nails and used them to carve this man's skin, and she would enjoy it.

Her chest started to feel hot. At first, Morgana thought that she would throw up after all, but the sensation felt different. It didn't originate from her stomach, but rather from her chest, right next to her heart. And the heat didn't fade. The more she thought about the damage she wanted to inflict on this horrible man, the hotter it became, until at last it happened.

The heat increased to the point it became unbearable, and Morgana screamed. With her scream, the pressure in her chest burst forward in a wave of light and heat. It burned through the ropes holding her captive, and through the ropes of the women and children around her. She couldn't see it, but her eyes were glowing a deep, molten gold. This wave of power collided with the man, who was unprepared for it, and blasted him out of the cave and out of sight. Morgana hoped he was dead.

As soon as they were free, the women all grabbed one or two children and ran as if the devil was after them, an assessment which wasn't that far off. In a split second, the cave was empty except for Morgana and the dark skinned woman from before.

“We won't tell anyone,” the woman told her and ran out of the cave as well.

Morgana felt light headed, even if the pressure in her chest had eased. She felt like that time she'd had a fever, but she still stood up and ran out of the cave as well. She tripped over rocks and branches but she never looked back; she had to find a way to get to Camelot. Or at least, to a village, any village, that would be willing to offer her asylum. She didn't notice the pair of eyes stalking her in the darkness.

* * *

Hermione and Mordred didn't return to the Isle of the Blessed, but rather to their Druid camp. The Elder smiled at them, Aida hugged them and Adelilne fussed. Mordred endured it all with the scowl of an child who's too old to admit he likes the attention, and Hermione felt grateful to have some people around her who supported them both. Mordred was then swamped by his friends, who wanted to hear all about his adventures, and Hermione made her way to where Agrona was sitting in her workbench.

“I never thanked you for helping me yesterday,” Hermione said.

Agrona shrugged, “Being a mother isn't easy, even when you birth the child. Having such a grown kid on your lap must not be easy, so I'm happy to help.”

Hermione sighed, “I'm not his mother.”

“Maybe not, but he regards you like one.”

Hermione huffed, “If anything, he probably looks at me like a sister.”

“Don't underestimate his feelings for you, Hermione,” Agrona warned, “for that is what led to your argument.”

Hermione sighed again, knowing that Agrona was right but having nothing to add. Then, with a chill running down her spine, she remembered her findings at the Isle of the Blessed. She opened her rucksack and pulled out a thick, dusty tome.

Agrona gasped, “Is that what I think it is?”

“It's the High Priestesses' Grimmoire,” Hermione said in a breathless, awed whisper, “I could only skim through it, but it goes back hundreds of years.”

“I heard stories about it, but I never saw it,” Agrona replied, her eyes bright with what Hermione suspected to be tears, and reverently touched the cover.

Hermione eyed Agrona with narrowed eyes, “I also found memories.”

“Memories?” Agrona asked, and her eyes widened. She paled.

“In a pensive,” Hermione added, and Agrona gasped. Hermione continued, “you knew about it.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Agrona replied, but her voice was shaking.

“You were there, weren't you? The night when the knights attacked,” Hermione said, and Agrona gave a deep sigh.

“I was just starting my training to become a priestess, so I wasn't in the hall with all the others. I was on cleaning duty down in the cellar. The High Priestess ordered all the books and artifacts down there one day without explanation,” Agrona said in a small voice, “I just heard the screams. I tried to get out of the cellar but it had been magically sealed.”

Hermione frowned, “How did you get out?”

“It took me hours to remember the spell to open the latch,” Agrona answered, and she seemed ashamed.

“It wasn't your fault,” Hermione said softly.

“I could have helped...”

“You would have been killed.”

Agrona didn't seem convinced, and yet she didn't argue, “The first thing that hit me was the smell. I can't, to this day, eat anything that's been roasted, because it reminds me of that day. Then I saw the bodies... all my sisters... There were some from the knights, those foolish enough to try and enter the sacred grounds. In the end, they intended to burn us alive inside our home.”

After a few moments of silence, Hermione said, “I'm sorry.”

And she was. She truly felt for the woman who witnessed such a horrible tragedy. She tried to remember any time she'd seen such devastation, but nothing came to mind; it did remind her, however, that she left Ron and Harry alone to hunt horcruxes and that the resulting battle between Harry and Voldemort would probably leave just as many casualties by the end. A tremor ran her body and guilt like any other overwhelmed her senses. What were they going to do? How were they going to finish hunting horcruxes? Did they retrieve her beaded bag? Did she have it when she returned to the past? If so, where was it now? It had too much information to have fallen into the wrong hands.

“Hermione!” Agora's loud yell ripped her out of her thoughts, “what's wrong child?”

“I left them,” Hermione wailed, “and they need to fight a madman. Who's helping them? What if they think I died? What if...?”

“Who, child, who?”

Hermione's heart clenched and her throat closed up, “My friends, from before. From where I come from...”

Agrona was then quiet for a moment, “I'm sorry. Is there anything we can do?”

“Unless you know how to send a message into the future, no, we can't,” Hermione said before she thought, and when she thought her hands flew to her mouth.

“It's not as surprising to me as you think, child,” Agrona chided lightheartedly, “I learned of the prophecies from the High Priestess herself, and when Mordred's prophecy changed, I was one of the first to know.”

Hermione sighed, relieved, “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Help us here, and perhaps, the ripples will have a positive effect on the future,” Agrona said.

“Or the opposite,” Hermione groaned.

“It can't be helped,” Agrona replied, “we can't save everyone.”

Hermione sighed. She thought about this woman who had witnessed the Great Purge first hand, and then to her friends so many years in the future, and realized that she couldn't do everything. She could barely shoulder the responsibility of a child's life in her hands.

“It wasn't your fault,” Agrona told her, echoing Hermione's own words.

Hermione knew it was the truth. She said, “What did you do after you left?”

“I wandered, for the most part, until I stumbled upon this Druid camp, much like you did,” Agrona answered, “I met my husband and we had a child. We were happy for a year or so, and I thought we were safe. But then the Purge finally reached the Druids, when the magical authorities who could have protected us were gone,” Agrona continued, “my husband died in one of their raids. My child... He was... I didn't even know he was gone, he was right there next to me but then... the next thing I heard was him screaming my name before the knight threw him in the well...”

Silent tears ran down Agrona's cheeks and Hermione's heart clenched in sympathy. She grasped the old woman's hand in hers, and they grieved in silence for the lives that had been lost. By then, it was dusk and they were called to the bonfire for supper. Hermione put the book back in her rucksack, and she and Agrona sat together, and soon Mordred joined them.

Hermione hugged him tight to her, needing the comfort of his presence after so much talk of death. Mordred seemed concerned, but he didn't ask anything, instead hugging her back. They ate in silence and then the Druids started on one of their songs. Despite their heavy talk in the afternoon, both Agrona and Hermione joined heartily, wanting to revel in the joy of life around them rather than to linger on past deaths. Mordred joined too, with Kara, and they all had a merry time.

It was towards the end of the night, as the fire turned to embers, that a shrill scream full of terror tore through their otherwise peaceful night.

“Go to the tent,” Hermione told Mordred, and when he tried to protest, she pushed him lightly, “now.”

The women and children scurried to their respective tents while the men grabbed logs of wood to make torches. Hermione was with them, and when they tried to convince her to turn away, she simply reminded them she was now the High Priestess. They dropped it.

Iseldir, the de-facto leader of the group, told them to fan out. Alaric stood close by her, hovering.

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Hermione said, not unkindly but firm.

“I know, but you don't have to,” he replied, without missing a beat.

“Alaric-”

“Drop it.”

Hermione did, albeit reluctantly. They arrived at a clearing when they heard leaves rustling and a strangled scream. Hermione pushed forward, bargin through the leaves, and what she saw made her blood freeze in her veins.

The Lady Morgana was lying on the ground, pinned down by a man much bigger and heavier than her. His meaty hands were closed around the lady's throat, and Hermione's own throat echoed the pain because Hermione knew those hands. She remembered what it was like to have them wrapped around her throat. She remembered her heart pounding in her ears and her chest aching for oxygen that wouldn't come.

Her palms grew sweaty and her vision swam. She felt someone grab her elbow and she jumped back in fear, rising her eyes and meeting the worried gaze of Alaric holding her own.

“Is he the man who hurt you?” Alaric asked her, in a whisper.

Hermione's panic increased, “How do you know?”

Alaric only stared at her steadily, “Perhaps you should go back.”

Hermione wanted to go back to camp, back to the safety of the Druid's wards and back to Mordred. She was going to turn back. But then Morgana made a pitiful sound when trying to draw in air and Hermione knew she could not leave her to die at Greyback's hands.

Hermione fisted her hands and swallowed the bile that was threatening to rise, and before she could second guess herself, she stormed into the clearing where they were much to the chagrin of Alaric and her Druid companions. Hermione didn't let panic override her brain; instead, she used her anger towards Greyback, Bellatrix and the Death Eaters consume her until her magical core burned.

“Greyback!” she yelled, extending her hands in front of her and letting her magic flow. He turned his snarling face towards her, and she felt her hands start to shake, but she could not show weakness now of all times, “ _Astrice!_ ”

Greyback yelped like a dog when her hot, angry magic blasted him across the clearing and pinned him against a tree. He snarled at her, baring his teeth.

“If it isn't Potter's mudblood,” he said, with a disgusting leer in his eyes, “we never got to finish what we started, did we?”

Hermione shivered, and her magic faltered with her fear, but she forced her magic to remain where it was even when she could feel the sweat beading on her forehead and sliding down her neck.

“Take the Lady Morgana and go back to camp. Tell the Elder to erect the strongest wards, both against magical and physical attacks,” Hermione ordered Alaric without looking away from Greyback.

“Hermione...”

“We can't leave you here.”

Both Alaric and Iseldir spoke at the same time, but Hermione shook her head.

“I'll be right behind you,” she said.

Alaric hesitated.

“Go!” Hermione screamed.

Alaric flinched. Hermione never raised her voice, not even when having to discipline Mordred or one of the kids at camp. They must have sensed her fear, and something else, because Alaric moved fast into the clearing and scooped the Lady Morgana in his arms while Iseldir led the rest of the Druids back to the camp.

“No one leaves the camp tonight,” Hermione said to his retreating back, and he nodded before disappearing through the trees.

Watching his prey walking away angered Greyback, who was as proud as he was a brute. He fought her magic with the viciousness of a caged beast and succeeded at breaking through by sheer force of will. The magical backlash threw Hermione a couple of steps back and spots dance in front of her eyes, but the thought of Greyback going after her family pushed her to once more throw her magic forward with the intent to protect them.

“ _Bebeorgan,_ ” she said between pants as she tried to catch her breath and a shimmering shield materialized in the path that Alaric had taken and Greyback ran straight into it. The sight would have been comical, except that it only served to turn Greyback's frustration and anger against her. He turned and walked slowly in her direction; Hermione gulped, hearing her heart beat in her ears.

“You always have to stick your nose where it doesn't belong, don't you?” he snarled, flexing his claws in a show of intimidation. It was working. Hermione remembered the pain of those claws raking through her skin. Her breathing became shallow.

 _Not now,_ she prayed, _please, not now._

“It's time to finish what we started,” he said when he was close enough that Hermione could smell his disgusting stench. She couldn't move. In that moment, she was back at Malfoy Manor and Greyback was pouncing on her. She screamed. He backhanded her and she sprawled on the floor, and before she could get her bearings he was right there on top of her, holding her wrists with his own.

“I will make you scream, alright,” he whispered in her ear and she nearly gagged. She was shaking, and the panic that gripped her heart didn't seem to be going away. She turned her head around searching for anything she could use as a weapon, despairing further when she couldn't find anything. Her mind seemed to have been overtaken by a thick fog and she couldn't think.

Just then she heard a thunk, and Greyback growled.

“Leave her alone!” someone yelled, and Hermione's eyes widened in further panic. Her head swiveled to the source of the voice, and she found Mordred's equally frightened gaze even if he was putting up a brave face.

“Go back to camp, now!” she yelled at him, causing Greyback to backhand her again.

“Quiet, you filthy mudblood,” Greyback sneered and stalked towards Mordred, who took a step back. Something tripped him, however, and he fell on his back. He scrambled backwards, but Greyback caught him soon enough.

Hermione saw Greyback grab Mordred's shirt and use it to lift the kid off of the ground, baring his teeth at him. Mordred scratched at the hand and kicked at the air but Greyback was unmoved. Hermione realized that if she didn't do something, Mordred was going to get hurt. She knew what Greyback did to little boys. She didn't have time for a panic attack. She stood up despite feeling weak and suspecting she might be overworking her magical core, and she pushed her magic forward once more.

“ _W áce ierlic!_” she said, and Greyback fell backwards, stunned. Hermione moved to where Mordred fell, shaking like a leaf and pale. She inspected his arms, his neck, his head.

“What are you doing here?” she said, trying not to startle Mordred further by yelling.

“You didn't come back with the others,” he said though his voice was shaking, “you promised you wouldn't leave me.”

“Now's not the time, Morded, you aren't safe here,” Hermione pleaded.

“Neither are you,” Mordred retorted.

“Mordred-”

“Look out!”

His warning was followed by a scream and Hermione felt herself being pushed into a tree. A knot in the tree pushed painfully against her back but the pain kept the panic at bay. She had to keep her head on straight, or Greyback would get Mordred.

“I'll kill you, mudblood,” Greyback snarled, “and then I'll take the boy and turn him, much like I turned little Lupin and so many other kids like him. I'll break him. He'll scream your name and you won't be there to...”

Hermione summoned a branch from a tree in front of her, and in its path to her, it whacked him in the head. He reeled back a few steps, enough for Hermione to put her hands on his chest and say, “ _Astrice._ ”

He flew back across the clearing, and Hermione pictured in her mind the High Priestess Nimue with her fireballs. She opened her palm and willed one to appear, and to do so quickly for Greyback was back on his feet and lunging towards her. She threw it at him before he got too close, and he yowled in pain. She looked down at the branch and grabbed it in her hand. She willed it to become a pointy sword, similar to how she turned the matchstick into a needle in her first year of Hogwarts.

It didn't work the way she'd hoped. Hermione only succeeded in turning the tip of the branch pointy. Hermione's head swam, probably because she was close to depleting her magical core, but the worst thing she could do right now would be to lose consciousness. She lost track of Mordred, but she hoped he had gone back to camp when he realized the nature of the danger. As Greyback came back at her despite the burn on his right shoulder, Hermione stabbed the pointy end of her branch into that same injured shoulder. Greyback responded with his claws, raking them against her arm. Tears sprung to her eyes but she refused to scream. She gave him a good old kick in the groin and ran away from him.

“You'll pay for that, bitch,” he said between pants of pain. Hermione wanted this to end. He came at her and she erected the shield again, and winced every time he hit it. She could feel her magical reserves were near empty and she didn't know how long she would be able to keep this up. Finally, after one mighty blow, Greyback broke through her shield and pinned her to the ground again. Hermione felt tired. Her head swam, and she saw multiple Greybacks hovering over her. Black spots danced in front of her eyes.

 _I'm going to die_ , she thought.

“Not so brave now, are you?” Greyback taunted, leering at her. Hermione kicked at legs, and tried to hit his face, but he adjusted his hold on her so that she couldn't move, “I do love them feisty.”

Hermione spat in his eye, or at least where she thought his eye was. Greyback, most likely in anger, roared and pulled his arm back. Hermione closed her eyes and waited for the blow that never came. She opened her eyes and saw a pair of eyes glowing golden, and soon Greyback had been blasted off of her and against yet another tree. Mordred then helped her up and led her away towards the camp in hasty retreat. She was leaning heavily on Mordred and felt like she was very close to passing out. They weren't walking fast enough, and she could feel Mordred's strain. When they reached the edge of the clearing, she saw that they weren't alone.

Merlin and Prince Arthur approached them cautiously and Hermione wondered how much they had witnessed. She saw three knights behind them, eyeing Hermione and Mordred wearily. She tried to straighten her back, but found she didn't have the strength.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked between pants, shielding Mordred with her body, even if she was shaking like a leaf from exertion and sheer panic.

“We heard a scuffle,” Prince Arthur replied. Just then, from the direction they had come from, they heard a roar.

“Who is that?” Prince Arthur asked.

“That is the man who attacked me, your highness,” Hermione answered.

“Yes, I know... oh, that man...”

“The were-wolf,” Merlin said, skeptically.

“Do you want to go meet him so that you'll believe me?” Hermione snapped at him, “be my guest! _We_ are leaving!”

“Too late,” Greyback snarled, coming through the leaves, like a tiger stalking his prey.

The prince and his knights immediately drew their swords. Hermione felt her knees weaken, and suddenly the only thing keeping her upright was Mordred's hold on her. Merlin grabbed her other arm and draped it across his shoulders, guiding her towards the back of the group while the men with armor and swords fought with Greyback. Hermione's knees finally collapsed and she threw up on the bushes next to her while Merlin looked at and treated the gashes in her arm. Mordred held her hand the whole time.

Some time later, the knights and the prince came back. They seemed frustrated.

“He got away,” Prince Arthur grumbled, “again.”

“He's not stupid, your highness,” Hermione replied, “he knows when he's outnumbered.”

Prince Arthur responded by punching a tree, “And we still don't know where Morgana is.”

Hermione was going to answer, but Mordred beat her to it, “She is safe.”

Arthur swiveled to look at him and his eyes widened in recognition, “Mordred?”

Mordred shrank in on himself, but nodded. He didn't like to have all the attention on him.

“She is safe, back in our camp,” Mordred repeated.

“How do we know you didn't kidnap her in the first place?” one of the knights spat, pointing his sword at them.

“At ease,” Arthur ordered, and the knight complied even when he made it clear he didn't want to, “explain.”

Hermione brought Mordred closer to her and hugged him, trying to protect him from their suspicious glares. Then, she said, “We found her being attacked by that man. If you can refrain from killing my people, I can take you to her.”

The same knight from before spoke up, “Sire, you can't possibly...”

“Stand down, Sir Kay,” Prince Arthur bellowed, and the knight recoiled, “you three will stand guard by the horses. Merlin, you're coming with me.”

“No swords,” Hermione asked then, and at the look they gave her, she continued, “we don't have any weapons. I won't put my people at risk by bringing an armed, trained soldier into out camp. If you don't agree to this arrangement, I will go and bring her to you, but it will take time. I don't know if she's recovered from her ordeal yet.”

Prince Arthur shared a look with Merlin that spoke of the connection that would become legendary and, after an almost imperceptible nod, the prince acquiesced and handed it to one of his knights.

“Sire...” one of them started to say.

“Set up the camp, find firewood and water. We might need to stay here until morning. You have until then to rest. Make sure to water the horses,” Prince Arthur ordered them, and the knights busied themselves with doing just that.

Hermione then stood up on shaky legs and leaned heavily on Mordred as she walked back to camp.

“Are you hurt?” he asked her, his eyes wide and afraid.

“It's nothing Agrona can't heal,” Hermione replied.

“Who was that man? What did he want with you?” he asked.

Hermione shuddered, “Despicable things, Mordred. If you want to know what evil looks like, _that man_ is what evil looks like. He relishes on hurting others... Why didn't you stay with the others?”

“I was afraid you'd get hurt,” Mordred answered with a pout.

“I know, Mordred. I was afraid too,” she paused. She wanted to reprimand him, but she needed him to understand why what he did was so stupid. Reprimands never worked with Harry, Ron or her; they still did what they thought they had to do, even if it involved the philosopher's stone, or a basilisk, or an escaped convict, or Voldemort himself. Hermione needed Mordred to be less reckless than she'd been.

So, she asked instead, “Do you think it helped that you were afraid in the middle of the danger?”

Mordred pouted more, “I saved you. Twice.”

“By drawing his attention to you,” Hermione admonished, “Mordred, what do you think would have happened to you if I had been truly incapacitated?”

Mordred was quiet for a long time. He didn't say anything, but she felt a shiver go through him. Hermione continued.

“I am thankful for your help, but I don't want you to do it again. By drawing his attention to you, you put yourself in danger and I...”

Hermione choked up, and the tears that had been building up since she saw Greyback on top of the Lady Morgana finally spilled. The men walking with them exchanged an uncomfortable look, but Mordred just looked worried.

“I'm sorry, Hermione, I won't do it again. I promise,” he said.

“It's just...” Hermione tried to speak through her tears, but she found she could barely draw breath, “I thought... he was going to… and you... I can't...”

She stopped to lean against a tree. She couldn't breathe and her chest hurt. Did Greyback injure her there? She was shaking and she felt weak. Her vision swam and black spots appeared in front of her. She swayed and slid down the tree and struggled to breathe.

“Mordred, do you know how to get to the camp?” Prince Arthur asked then. Mordred nodded, but at this point Hermione was barely aware of her surroundings and their conversation. In her mind, she kept replying her two encounters with Fenrir Greyback. One, back at Malfoy Manor a thousand years into the future. The other only a few moments ago. She recalled his disgusting stench, and the feel of his hands on her neck, on her wrists, the feel of his breath next to her ear as he promised to turn Mordred into a monster just like him. Her arm ached from where Greyback sank his claws on her arm, and then phantom hands wrapped around her neck.

Suddenly, she was scooped up in somebody's arms and she shrieked in blind panic.

“Put her down, right here,” another voice said, but Hermione couldn't recognize who it was or where it came from. Then, two warm hands covered her own shaking, clammy hands, “breathe with me, Hermione.”

Hermione then felt her hands pressing against something that was rising and falling, and she tried to imitate the pattern.

Rising, inhale, falling, exhale.

Inhale, and exhale.

Breathe.

At last, her vision cleared and she could breath by herself. She found herself staring into the kind, warm eyes of Agrona, who looked worried but also relieved. A sob escaped, unbidden, from her throat and she jumped forward into Agrona's arms, where she cried until she passed out not long after.

* * *

Merlin watched Mordred disappear through the tears and he turned to Arthur, who was watching Hermione carefully but keeping his distance. Hermione was making scary wheezing sounds and aborted sobs, even if she didn't seem to be aware she was crying. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, she was shaking like a leaf in a storm and she had gone awfully pale.

“What is wrong with her?” Merlin asked, concerned.

“The battle caught up to her,” Arthur replied simply, “it happens a lot to our younger knights the first time they go to the battlefield. It's like... you push all your emotions away so that you can fight, and when the fight is over, they all come back at once. It's... overwhelming...”

“Do you think she's telling the truth?” Merlin asked.

“I think she's one of the few people who is telling the truth,” Arthur admitted, and Merlin tried not to flinch, “my father hasn't been honest with me, and... I overheard Hermione arguing against Gaius on my behalf. Gaius didn't want her to tell me something.”

Merlin didn't know what to say to that, but he could feel the guilt gnawing at his gut. Despite knowing that Arthur was destined to become the Once and Future King, and that he would bring magic back to the land, Merlin was still skeptical. Even though he had seen Arthur's believes be challenged by Hermione and Gaius, and despite the flicker of hope that it ignited in his chest, Merlin was still very much afraid. What if Arthur hated him for this secret? What if he sent him to the pyre? What if this secret was the one which tipped the bucket? He didn't want to lose his friendship with Arthur, or his life.

Just then, the foliage broke and Mordred returned with a Druid man who didn't hesitate before he scooped up Hermione, who started shrieking and flailing, but the man didn't let her fall. Merlin couldn't help but wonder who he was. Mordred seemed to trust him as well. The man walked briskly away, leading them to the Druid camp with barely a nod, and within a few moments they were entering the campsite with tents, a bonfire and some overturned logs which he supposed worked as benches. He looked around, and apprehensively noted that there were children and adults who were openly doing magic. They stopped as soon as they walked in and stared at Prince Arthur in fear.

Merlin saw Arthur reached for the sword he didn't have on instinct, and for once felt grateful for that way in which Hermione seemed to know everything. She probably saved the lives of these Druids by asking Arthur to leave his sword. The Druids around them quickly scurried away. An elderly man with a face that seemed to have been carved out of wood approached them with a serene expression on his face, while the man carrying Hermione disappeared behind the flap of a tent.

“Mordred told me you were coming to retrieve the Lady Morgana,” the elderly man in front of them said, and Merlin focused on him instead.

“We are,” Arthur replied.

The man nodded, “Follow me.”

Arthur and Merlin followed him to a tent just like all the others, and when they walked in they saw a very pale Morgana drinking water from a pale. The woman next to her startled, causing Morgana to jump. Arthur didn't seem to notice, as his face broke into a big smile.

“Morgana,” he said, kneeling next to her.

“Arthur,” Morgana sobbed, pretty much in the exact same way Hermione had just mere moments ago. She lunged for Arthur, who held the lady close to his chest, as relieved as she felt.

“By the heavens, Morgana, we were so worried,” Arthur said, pulling back to see her face. He noticed the bruises to her face, to her arms, and most prominently to her neck. He growled, and looked around, “who did this to you?”

“No, Arthur, these people saved my life,” Morgana pleaded with wide eyes full of tears, “please, listen to me. The man who took me is like a beast. He tied my hands, and my feet, and he had other women and children there. He...”

“Calm down, breathe,” Arthur said, feeling like a weight was lifted off her chest as these few bits of Morgana's story matched Hermione's.

“Where's Hermione?” Morgana asked suddenly, as if reading his mind.

“She's being treated, at the moment,” Arthur replied after a brief hesitation.

Morgana brought a hand to her lips, “Oh, no. I have to see her... Take me to her...”

“I don't think it's the best idea, Morgana.”

“She got injured saving my life!” Morgana exclaimed and her voice cracked, “Now, either you help me get to her or I'll do it by myself.”

Arthur sighed and Merlin knew he was going to cave in. Soon they were making the short trek from Morgana's borrowed tent towards Hermione's tent. Arthur didn't want to just barge in, in case that Hermione was in a state of undress. So, he cleared his throat loudly, and it didn't take long before Mordred poked his head out. Morgana gasped.

“Mordred?” she asked, “Is it really you? How are you? Is this where you live?”

Mordred's face brightened and he walked out fully so that he could hug Morgana.

“I missed you,” he said, as earnest as only a child can be, “and yes, this is where we live.”

“We?” Morgana asked.

“Hermione and I,” he answered, “she's been taking care of me.”

“Why?” Merlin asked, his tone barely concealing his suspicion.

Mordred narrowed his eyes at him, “Because she loves me, and I love her and we are a family.”

Morgana's eyes shone with relief, “I'm happy to hear someone's been taking care of you. Speaking of Hermione, do you think I could see her?”

“Um...” Mordred poked his head back in the tent, “she just fell asleep. She was hurt, and very upset. You could see her, but don't wake her up.”

Morgana smiled at Mordred's innocence. She didn't have the heart to tell him that by seeing Hermione she meant to talk to Hermione, so she ducked in and sat down next to Hermione. As soon as Morgana saw Hermione, however, tears sprung to her eyes.

“Oh, Hermione,” Morgana sighed, “I'm so sorry.”

Mordred sat down next to her, and held Hermione's hand in his own small ones, “It was very scary. I thought that man was going to kill her.”

Morgana frowned, “How do you know that man, Mordred?”

He ducked his head and avoided looking at her as he answered, “I sneaked out of the camp and followed her. I was worried about her, and afraid she was going to get hurt... she got upset at me because of it.”

“She's not upset at you, Mordred; she's upset at what could have happened to you,” Morgana said, “I'm also upset. That man had a lot of women and children trapped in that cave with me, and I'm scared to think what he wanted to do with us. Just the thought he might have gotten to you too... it's very upsetting.”

“Yeah... I know. He scared me.”

Morgana put an arm around Mordred's shoulders, trying to comfort him. He relaxed against her, and when she turned to look at him some time after, she noticed that he was asleep as well. Her heart warmed; he was such a sweet kid. She was happy that Hermione had found him. She could rest better now, knowing he was not alone.

She laid him down next to Hermione and quietly exited the tent. She looked around for Arthur and found him sitting by the fire with Merlin. He looked so uncomfortable that Morgana wanted to laugh at him, and he was looking at the bowl of food they gave him as if it was suddenly turn into a sorcerer and curse him. That thought sobered her up, though. There were a lot of magic users in the camp, and she'd met some of them. She was worried that Arthur would go to Uther as soon as they arrived back in Camelot. She sat down next to him. He turned to look at her. She held his gaze.

“You can't tell your father about this,” Morgana said.

“Morgana...”

“Look around you! They are mostly women and children. They don't mean Camelot any harm. Please, if Uther finds out... he'll have them killed.”

Arthur finally looked away and rubbed his face, “I can't lie to the king.”

“You don't have to lie,” Morgana insisted, “just don't tell him.”

“And when he asks where we found you?”

“Tell him you found me being attacked by that man, and that you fought him off. You don't have to mention the Druids at all.”

“On the contrary, maybe if I tell him about their help, he will grant them a pardon,” Arthur argued. Morgana let out a bitter laugh.

“He was going to let Merlin die after you came back with the antidote for the poison. You were already there, Arthur, and the deed was done. He only had to bring the flower to Gaius. Instead, he crushed it. Do you think that man will spare these kind people who helped us despite the risk to their own lives? You owe them.”

Arthur wanted to say no, he didn't. Except that he did. Arthur also wanted to believe his father would be reasonable, but deep down Arthur knew he wouldn't. Arthur was already questioning his father's honor because he had lied to his face. He sighed deeply.

“I'll protect their secret,” Arthur conceded, and Morgana exhaled in relief.

“Thank you, Arthur,” she said.

A Druid woman came and offered her some water, bread and some form of stew. Arthur and Merlin already had their own. Morgana accepted, and then the woman sat down next to her.

“You must be the Lady Morgana,” the woman said.

“I am,” Morgana replied, “thank you for your hospitality.”

“It's part of who we are,” the woman replied.

Morgana ate her dinner in silence, grimacing when the tender muscles of her neck protested the action. That made her think of her attacker, and she turned to Arthur.

“Did you catch that man?” Morgana asked.

Arthur groaned, “He got away.”

“How did he get away?” Morgana exclaimed, attracting some attention. She then looked away, embarrassed.

“We were on a search party, not a hunting party. When he realized he was outnumbered, he fled, and we couldn't catch him,” Arthur summarized. He didn't tell her that the brute strength of that man alone ripped a tree from its roots and nearly impaled them all. He didn't tell her ran like a beast in all fours either.

“You must do something about him. I wasn't the first woman he kidnapped, and he also took children,” Morgana said.

Merlin frowned, “How did you escape?”

Morgana blanched, “He... he came close to me and I kicked him against the wall. I took his knife and cut the ropes. The women took the children, and I escaped by myself, but he caught up to me quickly and... you know the rest.”

It wasn't a very good lie, but it was the only one she could come up with on the spot. Arthur didn't press, whether because he thought she was too upset to relieve it or because he actually bought it, she didn't know. Merlin looked at her with skepticism, though. She sighed. Arthur seemed to be lost in thought. Finally, he spoke.

“What did he want with so many women and children, anyway?”

Morgana didn't know, and however much she tried to puzzle it out, she couldn't figure it out.

“Didn't Hermoine call the man a were-wolf?” Merlin asked all of a sudden.

“Yes, but what's that got to do with anything?” Arthur asked.

“According to Gaius, were-wolves are men who turn into beasts every full moon. He also said that their bite can infect others and turn them into were-wolves as well,” Merlin explained. Morgana dropped her bowl of stew, startling Arthur.

“Morgana?” he asked.

“The pack,” she murmured, “he said that I would be a good addition to the pack. Don't wolves move around in groups called packs?”

Arthur's eyes narrowed in realization, “You think he was trying to turn all of you into were-wolves?”

“It makes sense,” Merlin added.

“How does it make sense, _Mer_ lin?”

“Because he didn't take any grown men,” Merlin replied with a roll of his eyes, “wolves move in packs led by a male and female wolves. If the were-wolves behave similarly to them, then it makes sense that the man is looking for that female to lead the pack with.”

“But he's not a wolf, he is a man,” Morgana countered, “and cruel at that. I do believe he wanted to turn all of us into were-wolves, but I don't think he would have let one of the women lead anything.”

“But then what does he want?” Arthur asked.

“He wants power,” a voice behind them answered and they jumped to find Hermione making their way towards them, “the Lady Morgana is right. He doesn't want women to lead, he wants to dominate them. I'm sure you can guess how he does that, your highness.”

Arthur knew, and he hated that he knew. He asked, “But why does he want the children, then?”

“For the same reason. Back where I come from, he would kidnap children and turn them into beasts just like him. Now, not every were-wolf is like that; I knew a were-wolf who escaped and strove for normalcy. But Greyback is not like that. He abuses the children and turns them against humanity, forcing them to kill, maim and turn others into were-wolves as well,” Hermione explained.

The four of them sat in somber silence as they contemplated Hermione's words. Suddenly, Hermione gasped.

“When is the full moon?” Hermione asked.

Arthur was puzzled, “In two days, why...?For the love of... we have to go. Now! We have to tell my father.”

Morgana trembled a bit, “Can't we wait until morning?”

Hermione shook her head, “There's no time to waste. As we speak, Greyback is healing and preparing to kidnap more women and more children. In two nights, regardless of how many victims he kidnapped, he will turn into a beast and he will use it to infect as many people as possible.”

“You're not coming,” Arthur said, and Hermione's face would have made them laugh if the situation wasn't so dire.

“But it's my fault he's here in the first place. Of course I'm going,” Hermione exclaimed.

“What about Mordred?” Morgana asked, “You need to think about his safety.”

“I'm thinking about his safety,” Hermione, stubborn as ever, insisted

“He followed you to fight that man because he was afraid for you,” Morgana countered, “do you really want him to follow you to Camelot?”

Hermione sighed and slumped, defeated.

“Fine,” she relented, “but tomorrow I'll go to Camelot and you're going to tell me everything you discussed.”

“Do you want to get yourself killed?” Merlin asked, but Hermione just rolled her eyes.

“I have to do this,” Hermione replied, “if not for you, for myself. Tomorrow, be in Gaius's chambers in the afternoon.”

Arthur and Merlin rolled their eyes, but they knew that Hermione would do what Hermione would do. Morgana seemed confused, though.

“What do you mean it's your fault he's here?” Morgana asked.

Hermione avoided her gaze, “It was an accident. He was going to... I used my magic to escape, but he latched onto me and he ended up following me here. If I hadn't...”

“Stop,” Morgana interrupted, “it wasn't your fault. You did what you had to do to survive, and there's nothing wrong with that. He is the one we should blame.”

Hermione's eyes filled with tears, and Morgana's followed suit. Morgana was disgusted by the way that man looked at her, smelled her and talked to and about her. It made her feel that perhaps she had done something wrong. Maybe, even, that her beauty was a curse. But now that she heard Hermione had similar thoughts of guilt, Morgana felt compelled to correct her; and in correcting Hermione, she corrected her own misplaced feelings of guilt.

In that moment, the two women looked at each other and understood each other. Regardless of what came next, they would never forget how this horrible experience united them.

* * *

Dawn was breaking when Arthur, Sir Kay, Sir Bedivere and Sir Leon arrived at full gallop to the castle's courtyard. A flurry of guards and squires received them, Gueneviere among them, and even the king himself. When Gwen saw Morgana being helped off the horse by Arthur, she burst into relieved sobs. The king sagged in relief and rushed to the lady.

“Morgana,” he said and crushed her in a hug, which, after her experience, left her shaking as unwanted memories flashed through her mind.

“Father,” Arthur said, sensing Morgana's discomfort.

“Arthur, how did you find her?” Uther asked with a manic glint in his eyes.

“Perhaps we should talk in private,” Arthur suggested, and made a signal to Gwen who was practically vibrating in her place.

Gwen grasped Morgana's hands tightly on her own, which was as much affection as she dared show in front of the king, and led her back into the castle. On the way she asked a few servants to start heating up water for Morgana's bath, and to prepare some food as well. Arthur watched Gwen take care of Morgana with fondness, before turning to his father.

“I'll meet you in your antechambers soon,” Arthur said, and Uther nodded and walked briskly back to the castle. Arthur then turned to his knights.

“I am speaking to you now not as your prince, but as your fellow knight,” Arthur started, “we swore an oath to protect all the citizens of Camelot, did we not?”

“Yes,” Sir Bedivere, Sir Kay and Sir Leon answered in unison.

“We also swore an oath to protect Camelot's laws, did we not?”

Again, the knights responded in unison, “Yes.”

“Tonight, I witnessed with my own two eyes life within a Druid camp. Merlin was there and he can attest to what we saw,” he shot a look at Merlin in which the ' _or else'_ was very clear, “we didn't see anyone in that camp practicing sorcery. Morgana's wounds were healed with the same draughts and pastes you can find in Gaius's chambers. The food we ate was cooked by normal means and, clearly, it wasn't poisoned. Knowing that my father is a thorough man, he will ask for a raid if he hears of this Druid camp. Because I know and I witnessed that there was no magic in that camp, I ask you not to report about it to prevent innocent lives to be lost in the crossfire.”

Sir Leon and Sir Bedivere nodded, but Sir Kay's lip curled into a sneer.

“The sorcerers may have been hiding when you were there,” he said, and then added, “my lord.”

“Sir Kay, were you in the Druid camp?” Arthur asked.

“No, sir, but...”

“So, you're telling me that my assessment of the situation as crowned prince of Camelot was wrong even though you weren't a witness yourself?” Arthur pressed.

Sir Kay, understanding that even if he came with his suspicions to the king he could never overrule the eye-witness of the crown prince, decided not to press the issue.

“I hope you were not implying, Sir Kay, that I am disloyal to my father, the king, or to Camelot,” Prince Arthur continued.

“No, my lord,” Sir Kay replied with his head bowed.

“It is our duty to protect the innocent citizens of Camelot. If we get another report, from the same Druid camp, that someone is practicing sorcery there, I will personally lead the raid,” Arthur finished, and Sir Kay seemed satisfied.

Arthur didn't enjoy deceiving his knights. In truth, he did see magic in the camp: there were a couple of children charming butterflies to fly around them. Hardly something dangerous. Another thing he witnessed was Mordred blasting the were-wolf away from Hermione, and that could be dangerous, but it was clearly self-defense. Arthur, simply, didn't feel right repaying hospitality with brutality. His knights, however, would show no such conflict.

Therefore, Arthur decided that his best bet was to appeal to the legality of the issue. With no eye-witnesses to magic, the argument was hard to sustain in court, and the only eye-witness was himself. Merlin was, too, but Arthur trusted him not to go babbling around about it. Part of Arthur doubted that his father would actually need eye-witnesses reports to order a raid, but his knights didn't need to know that.

“You're dismissed,” Arthur said, satisfied they wouldn't talk. He nodded to Merlin, letting his manservant know that he was included in that order, and then walked towards his father's antechambers. There, the king was waiting for him, looking only slightly more relaxed than he had earlier.

“Father,” Arthur said, bowing.

“Arthur,” Uther nodded, “thank you for bringing Morgana back to us. Now, I would like to know where you found her and who took her.”

Arthur frowned, “How did you know someone took her?”

“Because she was clearly fed, or she would have been unconscious, and I noticed the rope marks on her wrists and her ankles. Her face and neck were also bruised,” Uther reasoned.

Arthur resisted the urge to curse. Instead, he said, “Yes, someone took her father. He is a man who acts like a beast. Along with Morgana, the man kidnapped other women and children, intending to keep them captive. That man was the same man we encountered months ago when he was attacking that other girl... what's her name? Oh, Hermione! I can only assume he wanted her for the same reason he wanted Morgana.”

Uther frowned, pensive, “Whatever became of that girl?”

“She left Camelot in the middle of the night and we haven't seen her since,” Arthur answered.

“You didn't see her there tonight?”

“No, father, she wasn't there,” Arthur said, hating how easily the lie slipped through his teeth. Since when did he actively lie to protect sorcerers? What had his life become?

“So you don't think she was behind the attack?”

“I didn't see any evidence to her involvement. From my assessment, she was just another victim. We were just fortunate enough to stumble upon her before he took her.”

“Do you know why the man kidnapped Morgana?”

“From what I gather, Morgana was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. She was, indeed, taking a stroll through the woods when the man surprised her and took her.”

“Do you think that man will attack again?”

“I'm certain that he will, and I'm concerned about that because two nights from now the moon will be full,” Arthur said, trying to keep calm even as his heart was racing.

Uther frowned, “What's that got to do with anything?”

“Well, back when we found that Hermione, she told us that he was a were-wolf. We didn't believe her, but we did search for his body without luck. I ran him through, father, and yet I fought against him, again, tonight. Gaius told us that were-wolves turn into beasts on the full moon, and I think that's the reason he kept Morgana and the other women alive,” Arthur managed to say without stumbling. He was struggling with keeping his story straight and he could only hope Uther wouldn't look too deep into it.

Uther's face grew concerned, “Is he a sorcerer?”

“I didn't see him use magic, father, but his strength is not the strength of a normal man. I do believe he is cursed, however, and that he will want to attack when the curse is at full power, two nights from now.”

Uther sighed, “Summon Gaius to my chambers.”

“Now?”

“Yes, Arthur, now,” Uther admonished, sounding like he had very little patient left. So, Arthur bowed and went as fast as he could without running to get Gaius.

* * *

Merlin felt like he was going to fall asleep standing. As soon as Arthur dismissed him, he went to his room expecting to fall down on his bed and sleep for a day. Much to his chagrin, that was not to be. Gaius was awake, seemingly waiting for him, and Merlin audibly groaned.

“What now?” he asked.

Gaius started, “Merlin!”

“Why are you awake?” Merlin whined, “What do you need?”

“I had an encounter with Hermione and it has kept me awake,” Gaius said, “I'm afraid she might be more dangerous than we thought.”

Merlin frowned. Wasn't Gaius constantly defending Hermione? While Merlin did have his doubts about her, time and time she proved that she wasn't their enemy. He was ready to trust her, especially given that Arthur trusted her; that and she hadn't bewitched him, which was always a plus.

“What makes you say that?” Merlin asked.

“She gave something to Arthur, and I need you to retrieve it,” Gaius said, looking at him in the eye.

A memory niggled at the back of Merlin's head. Arthur told him that Hermione argued with Gaius on his behalf. That his father hadn't been honest with him, and that Gaius wanted to hide things from him. That Hermione was the only one telling him the truth. Were Arthur and Gaius referring to the same incident?

“What is it?”

“A stack of letters.”

Now Merlin was as puzzled as ever, “From who?”

Gaius hesitated.

“If you don't tell me, I won't do it,” Merlin said, “letters are a private matter, Gaius.”

Gaius deflated, and this was the first time that Merlin had truly seen him look his age, “They were written by his mother.”

Merlin's jaw dropped. He couldn't say that he understood... no, he... he couldn't do that to Arthur, to his friend. Why did Gaius want him to steal something so precious from Arthur?

“It's for the sake of the kingdom, my boy,” Gaius continued, and Merlin wondered if he was that transparent, “it could plunge it into civil war.”

“What's in those letters, Gaius?” Merlin asked while his head reeled.

Gaius opened his mouth and closed it, “It is a private matter that concerns the king.”

“Then isn't it the king's fault if it all blows up in his face?” Merlin challenged, upset that Gaius would ask him to betray Arthur like this.

Gaius sighed, “Please, Merlin...”

“I can't... I won't betray Arthur like this,” Merlin said as he shook he head, “he's my friend.”

Just then, Arthur walked into Gaius's chambers looking harried.

“Gaius, my father has summoned you to his chambers immediately,” Arthur said.

“Of course, sire,” Gaius said, bowed and left the room after shooting a meaningful glance at Merlin. Arthur saw it as well.

“Merlin, I...” Arthur started, but the words seemed to get stuck in his throat, “thank you.”

“You heard?” Merlin asked.

“Hard not to,” Arthur admitted, “though I have to admit that now I actively listen for conversations behind closed doors. I don't like that so many people are keeping secrets from me.”

Merlin felt a stab of guilt pierce through him. It's not like didn't _want_ to tell Arthur about his magic, but rather he was lying out of self-perservation, wasn't he? He would die if he told Arthur, wouldn't he? Arthur turned to leave, and Merlin spoke without thinking.

“Arthur,” he said, and Arthur turned to stare at Merlin expectantly.

“Yes, _Mer_ lin?”

“What if I was also keeping a secret from you?” Merlin asked, in a low voice.

Arthur frowned, “You don't have to tell me everything, Merlin; despite what you may believe, I do understand the concept of privacy.”

“I know, but...” Merlin hesitated.

Arthur only stared at him for an eternal minute.

“I have to return to my father chambers,” Arthur said, “meet me in my chambers after you've gotten some rest. We can talk while we eat.”

“We?” Merlin asked, puzzled.

“Well, didn't you just call me a friend?” Arthur asked with a smirk.

Merlin's shoulders fractionally relaxed.

“I did.”

“It is a common thing to do to dine with friends, then” Arthur said, and turned to leave. Merlin exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Perhaps, if he was honest with Arthur, things would actually be okay. He believed in Arthur. He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long. That fight scene between Hermione and Greyback gave me a lot of trouble, and life in general has been busy as well. Leave a comment below, some kudos if you like, and share with another friend who enjoys to read Fanfiction.  
> Until we meet again,  
> Medieval Scribe

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this new story.  
> I have been a fan of Hermione travels back to Camelot for a while, but one of my pet peeves is that Hermione's presence doesn't seem to change anything. She just follows along Merlin and Arthur in their adventures in a retelling of the TV show in a way that it just rehashes the plot, which has a lot of inconsistencies. So here I am.  
> Please leave a comment; I love positive feedback. I'm trying to have as few inconsistencies in my own writing as possible, so if you see any feel free to point them out. I want there to be a pairing but as of yet it is not clear who will be paired with who. I have written five chapters already and I plan to upload at least once a week, so hopefully I'll be able to keep up a regular update schedule. I'm not sure what day of the week, though.  
> This Fanfiction is being crossposted in FanFiction.net.  
> Until we meet again,   
> Clear Eyes.


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